I read that
mealworms can survive
on a diet of plastic
much like a Beverly Hills housewife
but I don’t think
these women are the answer
to our environmental woes

poems and musing
I read that
mealworms can survive
on a diet of plastic
much like a Beverly Hills housewife
but I don’t think
these women are the answer
to our environmental woes
Pay that squirrel no mind
throwing all his nuts around
He got attitude
Yes, my dog can read
why else would he fetch papers
Illiterate cats
Yes, I am a dog
thick black otter tail, ham feet
Always a Lady
Happy Mother’s Day
did she wear a happy life
She looked best in red
Gaze upon the earth
from any other planet
Dinosaur selfies
the coyote
walked down the hill
down the street
down the stairs
his pointed face
sticking it to the neighborhood
Spring burst through the garden gate
all hammer storm and anvil rage
pulling at the grape vines
threatening the gardener
What lamb?
The thing
about a garage sale
is that you layout the
worn down, too big, too small
nicked, unloved, neglected
and hope someone
will see what you saw
when you took it home
you hang up
too old, too young too thin,
faded, and unopened
and hope there’s crowds
there’s milling
just not too late, too early
you wonder if they’ll see
your value
in a five-minute financial transaction
Sometimes a poem
is just a note to self:
dog to vet
new garden hose
check bank balance
call everyone you love
or everyone that needs love
say hi
When I was five
I cried
because I could not be
superman
My father said
be a hero
be a heroine
it doesn’t matter
just be
I chew through men
like a five year old
with a candy necklace
one strung after another
just to prove I can screw anything, too
Dorothy
I was the girl wearing glasses
filing my tongue on the edge of your words,
your sum of experiments
My Algonquin Round Table
a circle of deep drinking, harsh smoking,
shove it all into our skins
echos, lies, acid trips,
the naked want of us,
red blood true
shouting your line
poets alone should kiss and tell
I banged your bangs before
hairlines were hip again
alas my height deceived no one
my spine not as sharp as yours
The men I broke, they broke me
though we big girls don’t cry
we all have stories
Your line,
he must be handsome, ruthless, and stupid
is not my mantra – but my bad habit
At my mother’s wake my tears were real
I read your Epitaph for a Darling Lady
left for her a red young rose
found comfort in your knowing
that her dust was very pretty
as surely so was yours
Nebraska
broad hips, flat chested
horizon up to here
opens me
soothes me
calls me home again
to flop eared cornfields
deep in the marrow
we teased our virginity
listened for rabbit nests
rolled ditch-weed into
California dreams
Nebraska
eyes wide open
tawny wheat lashes
stills me
quiets me
calls me home again
to muddy lipped creeks
lazy grins hinting deeper
where I’ve been, where I’m going
we spread naked in the water
cupping tadpoles in our hands
sure in their knowing
Nebraska
full belly, heavy with dusk
yawning in half-sleep
holds me
cradles me
calls me home again
to crickets gossiping on the lawn
fireflies stuttering
we leapt, snapped their magic
tattooed our arms, our faces
humidity traced the curve of my breast
and your fingertips followed
thirteen hundred miles
from Nebraska