Examples of my poetry
Lunchtime in an Open Field
Frank stands five yards from his neighbor’s shed,
hands in his army coat pockets and a silver whistle
between cracked lips that minutes before had French-
kissed a Marlboro. Only thirteen degrees at noon,
his breath steams against a hearty north wind,
vanishing four feet above the snow-covered ground.
Sadie, a sand-splotched German shorthair, points
and pees in chaotic sniff-circles across the open field,
running on fire one moment then bottle-stopping at
what another beau or bitch left behind. She scours the
bottom of a chain link fence dividing her from a shepherd
jetting lot line to lot line in jealous frenzy for her freedom.
Then she jackknifes to a stop. The rabbit’s perfume is stronger
than the evergreen it hides beneath. But Frank’s silent whistle
commands her to his side where he grumbles, “Lunch is over.”
​
Published in "Zest for Pets"
Poets Choice poetry anthology, August 2023
Tomatoes
With cold, wet hands, she
slices red tomatoes to the
glass plate. So tight is the
skin, it pops.
Above the ceramic sink, a
double-hung, thick with paint,
invites spring’s breezes to
chastise yellow dot curtains.
Nestled in her palm, the
tomato is a frail bird,
innocent to the blade’s
slice through her knuckle.
The tomato splits in the sink.
The glass plate shatters to
the floor, and the slices
soak stains in the rug.
The blood drizzles down her
fingers, mixes with her
wedding band, collects in
her cuticles.
She sets the knife steady
on the counter, wraps her hand
in a flour towel, and shuts
the window tight.
1 Corinthians 13: 4-8 at the airport
He is patient
as he navigates his vows to
her through the airport terminal.
He is kind
when helping her stand so she can walk
on her own into the women’s restroom.
He is not envious
of the couples shouldering totes from
sandy beaches and trips abroad.
He does not boast
of working two, sometimes three, jobs,
so she could stay home with the kids.
​
He is neither proud nor rude
as he guides both her wheelchair and
their suitcase through the busy terminal.
He does not seek
attention or pity for his circumstances
or her condition that limits them both.
He is not angered
by the loss of their romance now
packaged in dutiful devotion.
He does not judge
those who exhaust their impatience
at his age and slow, arthritic gait.
He does not curse
their backs or wish them ill.
He absorbs their insults in silence.
Instead, he rejoices
in four children who will greet them at the next airport with six grandchildren in tow.
He rewards her
with a gentle touch and silly quips,
knowing his humor can make her laugh.
He protects her dignity.
He trusts in his Lord.
He hopes he can care for her
and endure for them both,
and be the one who lives longer
so she will not be left alone.