Tuesday, July 13, 2010

I gave mom a bite of cookie

I gave mom a bite of cookie.
It was an immediate disaster.
How many places can a cookie go besides the mouth?
Ask my mother. No, ask me.

As she guided it to her lips,
the precious tidbit
was crushed too tight. Faster than the speed of light,
crumbs fell upon her blouse. And pants.

And, I spied upon that shirt
dusted with crumbs,
one chocolated escapee glaring back at me.
And, on the floor, there was more.

She wiped her mouth with the
compacted remains of a tissue.
Much too small to do the job, yet undaunted, and voila:
Chocolate Chip Lipstick.

Ah, and on those fumbling fingers
in cahoots with cookie demise
uncaring and unaware, more chip smears appear.
Cookie and mom conspire against me.

And what I want to know is:
did any cookie arrive at the destination?

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Nude descending a staircase
(or I love hot tub jets)

Nude wearing an aqua marine swimsuit descending a staircase
Down, down, down into the turbulent waters of heat, heat, heat
For shame Duchamp—your nude is nothing like mine.
Yours is all broken angles, mine is all soft and complete.

My nude sinks smoothly even gracefully into the depths
A veritable leviathan of lightness and being.
Jet trails above chalking the blue blue blue sky
Eyes turning upward, breath escaping, steam rising.

For shame Duchamp, your nude of fractured disks and boxy planes
Is pummeled by the stormy steam jets below, ouchy upon ouchy
Destroyed by the froth and noise of water, color and freedom
I see mares tails and jet trails above, my nude is caressed and kissed.