grief sucks

days, weeks, months
crawl through my emptiness
time is a hollow oak tree
slowly rotting with age

I still see him slouched
in his leather chair
watching Fox News
oxygen tubes dangling

I still hear him wheezing
catching his breath
trying to argue
politics with me

His walker now leans
against the bedroom wall
wheels dormant
carryall empty

His clothes sorted
given to Goodwill
left behind his wool shirt
for me to smell and wear

His ashes are tucked away
inside his dresser cupboard
with his favorite coffee mug
and our 50th anniversary memory book

I keep whispering
I love you
I love you
I love you

breathe

the blood has dried
the bandages removed
yet the abuse continues
forming cobwebs in her mind

they said she was addicted
to the man who beat her
enabled his rage
protected his name

tiptoeing in the dark
afraid to take another step
afraid of the shadows
afraid of the future

when his fist again smashes her body
with the last of his pleading "I'm sorry"
she gathers her womanhood
forgives herself and walks away

Adam, Eve, Darwin, and Freud

Adam thought she came from his rib
Eve knew he came from dirt
Darwin thought they behaved like monkeys
Freud accused her of penis envy

Adam wanted his rib back
Eve planned a Bar-B-Q
Darwin theorized about their survival
Freud prescribed large doses of Prozac

If Death Were a Man

If death were a man
he would take me
to his garage workshop
teach me how to properly use
a hammer, a screwdriver and power tools

If death were a man
we would play poker all night
drink beer and smoke cigars
I would learn to spit, belch and fart

If death were a man
he would stretch out his
work calloused hand
and holding mine

lead me down the aisles
of Mennards and Home Depot
until we come to the spiral staircase
he built just for me

If death were a man
he would guide me up the steps
and with a loving pat on my rear
send me on my way

If death were a man

The Palm Reader

His palm has a double life line
His palm has a love line drifting everywhere
His palm has a short intellect line
Her palm has no lines
just deep rooted wrinkles

Whatever

don't want to know
what hides
in the corners
of my mind

once discovered
I have no place
to put them

and a rummage sale
of mental debris
is out of the question