Leaving The Game

The batter taking drugs comes out
of the game faster than a condemned thief,
unless the thief is selling tickets,

and the batter has good stats,
the batter the fans pay to see,
and not the manager cleaning up

the needles, and not the dealer selling tickets.
The bookkeeper pilfering funds is off the job,
unless the boss is skimming, and not the girl

staying late at the office, and not the boss
dealing in girls. The pitcher placing bets
comes out of the game faster than a molester,

unless the molester owns the team,
and the manager is the bookie,
and not the pitcher selling tickets.

Long Walk

It's a short walk to the noodle shop
where Kumiko serves up Kung Pao,
and a peek at the Moon.

Farther out is the ocean at Kalaloch,
a storm backed high tide rules the beach,
a Steller's Jay perches on an ancient cedar,

cheesecake and coffee at the lodge
overlooks the Clearwater, frost creeps up
cabin windows, some birds mate

for life. On the other side of Elwah Pass
a winter wind raises dust on the western plain,
rock cairns mark a dirt road

receding across an ancient battleground,
a pair of travelers walks into the haze,
small loads depress the mind.

Journeys don't start long,
near the end we understand
there's no time to go back.

Press On

Press one for English,
prensa dos para el español,
press three to talk like a pirate ye blackguards,
press four if you have the money
and need to pay your bill.

Press one 'cause your call is important,
press two for your convenience,
press three if you're being ignored,
and just want a little respect,
press four if you have the money,
it's time to pay your bill.

Press one if the car needs gas,
press two if the food is getting low,
press three if you're out of work
and have too many bills,
press four if you have the money,
press five to put it on a card.

Press one to report a power outage,
press two if you're feeling sad,
press three for bad weather
and the flood is getting deep,
press four if you have the money
and need to get away.

Press one if you're all alone,
press two if you want to talk dirty,
press three if you change your mind,
press four 'cause I love ya honey,
press five if you have the money,
it's time to pay your dues.

Press on, press on, press on.

Time Ku

I think fast
when I have
enough time

~

a winter morning
the pendulum stops

~

I walk half way
round the pond –
tomorrow the other half

~

a marsh at dusk
the songs are gone
before I'm ready

Look Inside

I take a string of worry beads,
a blue-black feather, a fossil shell,
a Li Pai poem printed on rice
paper, an ivory toothpick, three

Spanish coins, a sprig of sage,
a bronze donkey-bell, seven
yucca seeds, an obsidian flake,
a pocket watch stopped at 2:30,

one redwood cone, a jade
countercharm for double happiness,
a small glass of port wine,
go to the window, and look inside.

Inelegant Bird

A US Airways jetliner crashed into the Hudson River after a flock of birds apparently disabled both its engines. Seattle PI headline.

A howling jetliner leaves the ground
and flies up like an inelegant bird,
the howling turns to join a passing flock,

it doesn't fly well with others.
The howling, like an underfed hawk,
plunges in and the flock is reduced

to a scattering of feathers, a scattering
of engine parts reduces the howling.
The howling plunges into a river

like an inelegant bird,
a buzzing-boat swarm
scurries in like small furry things

picking the innards, and a gaggle
of buzzing reporters scavenge the chatter
like pickers at the garbage dump.

The Same Old Hunger

The coyote hunting a mudflat at Silver Lake
has that exasperated things-were-going-ok-
until-you-showed-up look that wild things
so often have, the look that makes me want

to apologize for the dry winter, ticks,
barbwire fences. The coyote and I are after
the same thing, fuel for the stove,
a quiet place to rest, someone to be with,

relief from the heat upwelling in billows.
In the moonlight we both long
for other times, and the sunrise
finds us with the same old hunger.

They Need Me

The sun gets up slow, gives me time
to heat the tea water, sink in the rocker
and watch the feeding flock find
the Premium Northwest Mix on the deck.

The flock ignores the train going through town,
the air horn marks the crossings,
two longs, a short and a long.
In the mail, between a pre-approved

and a bill, is an opportunity
to face the challenges to come
in an election about seven states over.
I'm not allowed to influence the election

with my vote but I can send
twenty-five dollars, fifty dollars,
or whatever I can afford to inform
and inspire. It's like buying

a Packers jersey for watching the TV,
even if I care how the game ends
they don't want me on the team,
but they'll take my money.

Three Rattlesnakes

On a desert road an irritated snake
coils and challenges my truck,
the truck shies away.

~

In the desert noon nothing moves,
a long slow rattlesnake finds shade
under my truck.

~

An evening snake hunts a sandy bar
for a sign of mouse,
a moonlight canoe ride finds a different camp.

Varied Thrush

A dirt road tracks up the Cascade mass
into thin light. In mountain-cold,
granite-fresh air a razor trill
draws a tart slice through evergreen shadows,

then a higher pitch slits the air.
I slow the truck and the brakes answer
with an irritable squeal, and nothing moves.
Somewhere in the back room the clerk

quietly kills time until I get bored
and move on. Down the ridge
a razor trill draws a tart slice
across the Cascade mass.

Under The Fog

The Bottle Beach mudflat doesn't rest
easy, he reaches out under the fog,
under a flock of probing and picking
sandpipers. The mudflat grabs the tide,

pulls it up under his chin
and goes to sleep. The tide
slides back off the end
of the bed, the mudflat turns over,

scratches sand fleas, makes room
for the pickers. A flock of pickers
swirls and splits, a peregrine flies through,
flies hard with takeout in his talons

and lands on a channel marker,
and the pickers go back to probing.
Bottle Beach sighs, and reaches out
under the fog.

Deep Shadows

for Monday Poetry Train

I go to Seattle and came back with you
and Chinese takeout. Chopsticks click
into a sweet and sour night,

moon shadows gather in the garden,
a red dress hangs in the closet.
Voices from a troubled past

interrupt and compel you
to drift away like morning fog.
Why do you come back

to the shadows of my dreams?
Bright lights leave deep shadows,
it's just an empty dress.