I got out the truck,
And something honked,
A rabbit in the median,
Telling me to move along,
As he ate his city flower
In a lazy recline,
As a city employee,
Planted more down the line.
I rang the doorbell,
Of a south end brown stone,
As if I caused its cornice to sprinkle,
On my head from the doorbell alone–
Just above with an acorn,
Shaggy, itchy, with a giant beer gut,
A squirrel staring at me,
As if I was on his TV as he ate his nut.
Then I, wanted a pic at the commons,
In front of the many ducks,
I hand my camera to my boss,
And all the Mallerds dive, and just show their butts.
Hmm, let's get back to work,
And look under this sink,
"Hey sailor!"
" Son of a @#$%^."
A lounging possum greets me with a wink.

Winter will soon slip into
spring, all dressed in
green; bouquet nights and
the rebirth of love.
Snakes gliding through
the grass.
But for now, we deal
with ice and snow,
slick roads and cold
hearts.

I was on the bus the
other day.
The driver had a
slippery scowl pasted
on her chubby face.
My mask had inched
down on my nose, and she
yelled, "Put your mask
on or you will be off the bus."

I was already having a terrible day.
My asthma was acting up,
I could hardly breathe, and I had
just put my beloved
dog to sleep.
I miss her, but she slipped
away peacefully.

I rang the bell to get off at
my stop, as I chewed my
gum in passive anger.
I stood up and walked toward
the front of the bus.
The aisle was slick from
the snow and ice.
As I neared the exit door,
I took the gum out of my
mouth, so that I could throw
it away, but things went
horribly awry.

I slipped on a wet
spot, and to catch
myself, I firmly planted
my gum hand on the back
of the driver's head.
She had short hair, but still,
the *** of gum was now
embedded in her golden
locks.
I'm sure a haircut is
her near future.

Since then, I intend
to tread softly and cautiously,
and just maybe,
she does too.

One of my classes has theater seating with little desks that two people share. I’m sitting by this huge man, who really should have a little desk all to himself. I don’t want to seem ungenerous but he just sprawls out like I’m not there.

So in a profoundly machismo gesture, this morning, I marked my territory with a pencil. It was carnal, feral, aggressive, and distinctly unfeminine gesture - more than a mere assertion of "First come, first serve" etiquette.

I’m familiar with life’s overlapping territories, like sidewalks, movie armrests and overhead bins and the subtle, shared space social negotiations when someone, say, introduces a laptop to a crowded library table and we all must  shuffle our stuff around or when someone desperately needs the only charger.

THEN, Friday morning big-guy starts this SUPER awkward conversation. To be clear - up until then - our ‘relationship’ had been blessedly non-verbal.

Let me tell it poetically..

He said he saw me signing in and timed it so I sat by him
he hoped to get to know me, and perhaps to ask me out.
They pass around these student info sheets, so we can form study cliques
and after a little bit, he smirkingly mentioned that he’d memorized my number.

Now, I’d barely even noticed him, I thought seating was left up to whim
before he could ask me out - I pointedly told him all about my boyfriend.
Now I’m sitting by a refrigerator-size guy who’s subtly giving me the eye
and as for his excessive use of space, I think he’s being passive possessive.

Monday morning before class, I’m going to catch the TA with her coffee and ask,
to change my seat to somewhere, anywhere, with someone, less transgressive.
I’ve been in classes, for years on end, I’ve been hit on and I’m not against making friends
but you have to know how to begin and not be so open, sneaky and aggressive.

I feel no enmity, just an awful awkward-ity and I don’t want him next to me.
Like the air-head I can pretend to be, I took a pic of him, disguised as a selfie of me.
If I’m ever concerned or slightly alarmed, I always manage to send a selfie to Charles.
.
.
Songs for this:
Messy by Lola Young
Every Breath You Take by Committed
Walk Like an Egyptian by Awaken A Cappella
.
.
Charles, a 55-year-old 6'4" retired NYC cop, has been my escort, driver, security and surrogate parent since I was 9 years old.

that’s like saying
sixty-degree water isn’t hot
just because it isn’t boiling,
and it isn’t cold either.

my body feels heavy
after
fifty-ton anchors
pulling my frozen limbs under.
and i don’t like the feeling.
and it’s so ******* cold
to breathe.

i had a thought today:
the world would go on
if i were gone.
no one would notice.
it was comforting—
no one would grieve.
no one.
but me.
it’s no fun, you know;
i would know.

nonsense,
breathed in too many chemicals,
droplets of poison,
in my mind.
people who know you
will be affected,
or at least, perhaps,
some of them,
whether you want to admit it or not.

well, i think
there’s a difference
between people knowing you
and loving you,
or perhaps knowing you
is a kind of love,
but it never is.

i thought
therapy could help me get over
my fear of death,
so I could—
well, you know...

death serves a sweet martini,
and I could use a drink,
’cause i can't see
past the past.

Oh, man,
it's
Happy Hour

Learn French in ten days
Lose weight without exercise
Learn to love
Your hips, bust, thighs

Learn secrets of New Orleans chefs
Take this test and find romance
Learn to rhumba
Or any other dance

Find your inner goddess
Learn ancient Chinese techniques
Start tonight
And know joy that lasts for weeks

Send no money now
Try it in the comfort of your home
Just stir in our tasty mix
With a little hair and bone

Learn secrets of New Orleans ******
Sleep all night without dangerous pills
Some may experience dizziness
Nausea cramps and chills

Find a buyer for dull remaining years
Have younger lovelier skin
Call 1-800-JZS-CARES
For prompt removal of sin

Learn secrets of New Orleans voodoo queens
Soothe cuts rashes and burns
Be sure to check the box on the right
Indicating acceptance of terms

Get rid of clutter, sell your home
Please write your name on this tag
Make sure to leave all valuables
In this trendy designer bag

Leave that unsatisfying grind behind
Get new flooring for your garage
Let us help you get back to the earth
Pauvre petite, quelle domage!

Tense audience members, in active learning auditorium classes,
all crammed together.
In the first few days there were times that I felt genuinely lost.
I wasn’t used to processing everything,
especially technical things, in French.
On day two, one guy, looking askance, said,
‘That was confusing, right?’ Which was a relief.
On day three, Charles, watching me via the rear-view mirror,
said, “Trust the process, kid-0.”
And eventually, around day four, I started to find my footing.

Shall we wax, free-versely, poetic?

Who has it worse than a physician?
There’s no sleeping in that business,
and the physician’s wisdom, press'd with caution, is seldom desired or given careful attention.
Surely, I’ve heard it reasoned, those who applaud pristine health are but abusing God's patience.
But what else remains, for learned men - the priesthood, with its beguiling, terrestrial proverbs?
​​That idea’s a purgative. And I am female.
Besides, they’ve erased much of the good will that came out of Nazareth.
.
.
Songs for this
Welcome to the Jungle (808 Remix) by Freedom Dub
Easy Way Out (version française) by Mariama

No one can hear me
I use soft lead
It’s not what I wrote
But what you have read

Get past the lines, into the spaces
Truth and love, my pen always chases
How about this, what if I were to say
All of the things that make me feel this way

Any verse, now they’re all the same
What is up with that, what’s in a name
No one left but my pen and I
Ink smears when I start to cry

9/12/25

I am a student in Paris, a med-school freshman, one of the crowd.
This week is all introductions, orientation functions and instructions.
“Settle in, get your books, parking passes and find your classes.”
I got my ID - I’m a Vip in the bourgeoisie - does that look like me?

Freshmen join a ‘buddy program’ so things seem less hostile
I met my buddy last week, she’s the consummate boss - effortlessly busy.
She’s got my folder (oh my), full of check-lists. I’ve yet to see her smile.
She’s a third year, from Chamonix, a town in the jagged Alps, near Italy.

If you want me, right after classes, I’ll be at Les Deux Parisiens,
a shaded coffee shop across from school that feels like a garden.
They have everything - from coffee to pizza and martinis - it’s awesome.
For 17€ : try the ‘La Campione,’ pizza with beef and chorizo (sausage)

I am a student in the misty rain, stepping carefully on cobblestones
- they pool water geometrically - I’m heading home (6 Av.) walking alone.
Nothing’s still, classes end at noon - it’s the city, sidewalk’s are full, Ubers uber, mopeds mope, bikers bike, people scatter, umbrellaless commuters.

I haven’t made any new friends yet - I’m not worried - I’m just beginning.
.
.
Songs for this:
Day Tripper by MonaLisa Twins
Café Europa by Quadro Nuevo
Count Contessa by Azealia Banks & Lone [E]
Robinson Crusoe by Art of Noise