Robotics

Good evening, I will say.
Or maybe Hello, how was your day?
Her reply will compute. But
I respectfully remain mute.

I'll grasp the handle of the door,
and open it for her.
My driving is sincere.
My conversation required.
My interactions adequate.

I sure like being in this fancy situation.

A muttered thanks. We embrace.
I depart, and walk to where I parked.
I carry this too close
to my artificial heart.



PLEASE DO NOT RESPOND TO THIS MESSAGE, as it will not be seen nor read by a human.

Coastline

A salty breeze rides hard upon the memories

of painted gulls. Below these birds, on a beach

of driftwood dreams, children play, and their

exotic animals frolic in the waves. On this

beach a single plastic bag, tied by a single

piece of twine, begins to rise, and ride

the thermal currents of the breeze. Higher

and higher it goes, until the piece of twine

lets go. Then the plastic bag, that flew

with painted gulls and was abandoned

by the breeze, falls. Looking back

along the path, beyond the children, wading

in play, I can see a collage of kelp covered

dreams, trickling into the sea, like a ruffled

plastic bag, like a string, like a sun-bleached memory.

Bambi

Bambi, your mother is dead.

The hunter didn't kill her

But the Japanese did.

Crossing the street at Center and 9th,

That little Toyota Camry

Bent her legs up over her head.

She lay there in that man made bed,

Until finally she was bled.

Stand Back

They all go, but I came home.

Their encouraging words accompanied by a smile

Turned to pointing fingers and hesitant hellos.

In this mess caused by my premature

Appearance and marred by what ifs,

Lies a crowd of unmet expectations

Here my heart resides but cannot rise.

So stand back a foot or two,

I wouldn't want to stain

Your crisp white shirts

With my tears of

Ineptitude.

A Flake

The January wind cracked
Spreading the crystallized air through
Bare
Deciduous trees and empty playgrounds

High above
Condensed vapors cling
Before they fall
Like a thousand angels
Fighting
An expired war

Far below
Shuddering branches whisper
To a tattooed
Playground tube
Here comes our blanket

Painted Seagulls for William Slater

A twinkle in my eye
passed from the past
when dreams were ideal and a meal was peeled.
This interwoven thread called my past is not yet past.
The twinkle remains and
so do I.

All The Right Signs

Movie night.
Approximately 2ft. 1inch of couch separate her from me. To compliment and add to the space, two distinct and unique blankets, made by her grandmother, individually cover her and me. Her legs are crossed; The right over the left, facing away from me. My legs are also crossed, mirroring her cross. Her hands fold nicely, one upon the other, resting in her lap. A fold so nice and comfortable looking it seems to say, no room for another. So I keep my hands in my own lap. She turns to say something. I turn to meet her gaze. As I turn I lean........back 8 inches, increasing the distance to 2ft. 9 inches. Back to the movie; Back to 2ft. 1 inch.
The movie ends.
She stands and walks to a book shelf. I stand as well. We talk about books. We sit down again. This time 4ft. and a coffee table separate us. Polite conversation resumes. That was a great movie. I love Indian food. I should take you home. Okay.
The car pulls into the driveway. Thank you. You're welcome. No hug tonight. Last time there was a hug. I open the door and step out. Good night. Good night. I close the door. She drives away.
I can't help but think I missed a sign.