Box of Doorknobs

for Totally Optional Prompts

For every three shops open
on the street two open
on the alley, and the floor slants
under the woman who likes old faucets,

brass with a porcelain handle, one for cold
and one for hot. Light coming in
the front window slants back
to the box of doorknobs, the petrified wood,

a glass eye, hammers, silver spoons,
hockey sticks, carburetors,
a dusty radio that reported the death
of swing, and a hound

who beats the floor with his tail.
They're old books that don't read,
they're looking for a new shelf,
ready for the next episode.

Go across the street to the Buzzer Café
and ask for Frank if you want to take home
a doorknob, or an old dog,
or the woman who likes old faucets.

Good Morning, Blues

Rolling around in the bed, sleep doesn’t find me,
I haven’t seen my gal in a long long time,
get up in the morning, blues is walking through the room,
the day is dark and trouble is running around my mind.

I’m settled in the kitchen and life is passing me by,
money can’t find me and I can’t keep from crying,
there’s misery in my heart and muddle in my head,
blues is nothing but worry on a weak man’s mind.

Between Storms

Between storms the weather is charged
with hot peppers, even the fence post
is irritated. The ox shifts,
shuffles behind a wall, a fence,

deign to acknowledge the crows.
The caws urge each other on
like drunken tailgaters, into a din
of aggravation. The ox ambles off,

breaks wind. Crows are miffed,
look to each other for direction
like rejected journalists,
face the same way, into the wind.

The caws clear the room,
the ox wanders, another storm breaks.

Late Spring

for Totally Optional Prompts

The gray woman in the parking lot
lives in a house where the front steps
and the porch don't get along. She's broke,
needs rent, has three dogs

and no dog food, it was a tough winter.
Where does the gray come from?
Her plea is scrawled on a cardboard sign,
anything will help, I drive by

and ignore the fingernails on flesh,
someone left the door ajar
and I slip out the back. Winter is tough,
and spring is coming late this year.

Starbucks

It’s been like this for generations.
Three crusties at the corner table
think on early days, before the brown
curse. The old crankies talk

of working a fishing boat
and falling trees, rather be funny
than honest, flip platitudes
like Frisbees. At the counter

a mechanic double-mochas,
newspapers up,
thinks on the day he’ll give up work,
join the crankies at the corner table

and flip the same old platitudes
at the next generation.

Vineyard Park

I see licentiousness in your eye,
and a bit of lechery.
It troubles me that,
in Vineyard Park,
we’ll talk about this
and find a match.

Catlow Furniture

for Totally Optional Prompts

Amy's the thinnest girl I know, she works
shipping and receiving at Catlow Furniture.
Crowing truckers bring in a load, place bets,
stack pallets and crates close together,

Amy slips in and out like a shadow.
Business is strong and there's good money
hauling furniture, and there's good money
down at Lucky's Tavern when the crows

wash down Roughneck Pizza in front
of auto racing videos, but not for the shadow
in shipping and receiving.

River

In early spring the river through town
runs high and dark, I can’t see the bottom.
I stumble for footing in the dark
and trip up to a bank

where I agree to carry a staff
the next crossing. The river
lowers and clears, I stay out
of the current, away from rocks and snags,

sit on the bank and watch chicks
ready to migrate to their own dark waters.
Winter clouds gather on the western sea,
a dark river runs through town.

Night Birds

While walking home too late at night the bright
Moon lights the hedgerow. Leaves of autumn tumble
to the path and night time birds take flight.
I pass your cottage doorway when a squall

endamps and darks the path, annoys the trees,
compels an invitation to your kitchen
warmth for wine and sport and pickled fish.
Old wine was then and now old leaves we prune.

Close by that door I rest where moonlight’s best.
Behold the cottage cold does thoughts enfold
of former times when I arrived a guest.
The night is old, an empty glass I hold,

that path of leaves is yet as dark and wet,
and night time birds take flight with my regret.

The Uniforms

as posted on New Verse News
for Totally Optional Prompts

When the uniforms come home
clean them deep,
hot stain sets hard,
hot stink comes back
in the quiet dark.

When the uniforms come home
pin a medal,
sew a stripe,
set crease and arrange
for the mourner.

When the uniforms come home
this is the itchy fabric
that wraps our wound
clean them deep.