Making Ends Meet

Thirteen year old, Thelma Jenkins,
thrust her hands deep into her pockets
and found a dusty paper clip.

Then with a twist and a turn she made
a hook and attached it to a piece
of line she found wrapped
around the railing at the end of the pier.

Things aren’t what they seem.

She scratched the sores between her
fingers, then rubbed her belly to soothe
the ache, soured from the smell
of soiled diapers and rotten food,
spilling from the overturned trash cans.

A sea gull took aim, but missed.

Life is out to get me.

She noticed a fish head lodged between
the wooden slats of a bench. “Sorry Mr. Fish,”
she said, then pushed the hook through its eye socket.

It made her think of the aristocrats who lost
their heads during the French revolution.

Things could be worse.

Lowering her bait, the grotesque head,
bobbed up and down in the waves.
It reminded her of Mr. Stokes,
her old math teacher.

“Now Miss Jenkins,”
she heard him say, “show us
the circumference of this circle?”

Life used to be normal.

Shielding the sun from her freckled face,
her stomach growled, and in a little while
she felt a tug at the end of her line,
and there it was, fighting for its life,

dinner for one if she could pull it in.

Things will get better.

Thanksgiving Day

He stood at the corner of a busy street
clinging to a tattered cardboard sign
with the words, HUNGRY Please Help Me.

The coins clinked into
his cup sounding like his
mom’s silverware.

He remembered plates filled with
sweet yams, steaming turkey, and
mashed potatoes covered in gravy…

then Dad’s drunken angry words,
Mother’s broken antique china,
...running out of the house
slamming the front door...

Memories left a bitter taste
sour bile deep in his gut.

He scratched the scabes on his unwashed
head, his sinuses ached from the stench
wafting up through the sewer grate.

He wiped the corners of his mouth
longing for the sting of a needle
followed by the sweet silence
of slumber filling his veins.

Balanced Checkbook

there was a time the household budget
depended on a balanced checkbook
the rows of numbers had to be added

and subtracted throughout the weeks

to match the total on the monthly statements
a few pennies lost were permissible
but all the dollars had to be accounted for

because the paycheck only lasted
for thirty days, no wiggle room for mistakes,
no fudging, or forgetting expenses

today with electronic wizardry
an up-to-date balance can be had

with the swipe of a card and a secret pin number
current state of potential spending
is available with an itemized list of all

checks written, charges credited, or impulses debited

like an electrocardiogram
giving information on economic health
available for everyone to see in an instant.

The Right Words

I remember as a child, one of my tasks was to
clean the debris from the pinto beans,
quality control in the home, the last stop before
the boiling pot and dinner meal.

Writing poetry is much the same,
filtering each word, tossing out the ones
that crunch on the ear if left unedited.

Words; individual letters whose sounds
are combined to make meaning, several sounds
then linked together to create a cadence and
rhythm like a pounding drum,
arranged for the listener's pleasure

The sapphire sky reflected in the water
lapping gently on the sandy shore.

THE LATE NIGHT PHONE CALL

The phone woke me up from a deep sleep.
I tried to focus on the clock,
large red digits read; 3:00 A.M.
Who could be calling at this hour?

There’s my son, out in the desert
he’s got three kids and wife,
maybe it is one of them?

Or maybe my youngest son
who lives with his family
twenty minutes off the freeway.
They’re usually not out at night
could the kids be sick?
Is there an emergency?

What about my grand niece
could something have gone wrong?

I finally clear my head
enough to pick up the receiver
and say, “Hello,” in my gravely voice
I hear nothing but quiet sobbing.

Again I say, “Hello.”
This time clearer and louder
…nothing… and then a dial tone.
I look for caller ID
but no number listed
it's blocked, the caller unknown.
I try * 69 but the line is busy.

I dial the number for my oldest son
“Everybody’s fine. No worries.”

The younger one is okay too
but, why he wonders
did I called so early?

Finally the niece assures
me, the call didn’t come from her.

I guess it was a wrong number
but who was crying
at 3:00 this morning?

Long Term Relationship

We’ve known each other since we were young
just out of adolescence and married
first one child and then another
time filled with so many activities
in a little while the house was still
just you and me and the dog

We finish each other’s sentences
four hands to complete every task
we have a rhythm all our own
words are shared but don’t have to be
we frequently touch so naturally
and laughter a daily activity

We are connected undoubtedly
our breath synchronized, our heartbeats too
can’t imagine life without the other
can’t sleep at night if we are apart
whatever existed when we were young
can’t compare to when we're older.

Making Friends

I wander around the playground
looking for someone to be with
but no one wants to play with me.
I stand alone under the big shade tree.

I look up to the sky and what do I see?
A big fluffy cloud in the shape of a bear.
I imagine he’s smiling down at me.

Another girl with brown curly hair asks me,
“What are you doing, can I play too?”
I point up to the sky

and to my delight
we make up stories
about the shapes we see.



















There are families of rabbits
a horse, and a mouse
a dog being chased by a fire breathing dragon.

Recess goes quickly and we promise
to meet at the same spot after lunch
and again next week.

Cloud watching gives way to other games
we meet after school and clearly remain
friends for the rest of fifth grade.