The Pink Ticket

A playground of many muses.

The Pink Ticket - A playground of many muses.

Project 365: A Year in Words, Day 256

The chicory changes with August’s fade
turning dusty as feathery petals offer
one last hurrah under a late morning
moon; scattered precariously among
Queen Anne’s Lace shimmery cut intricacies–
perfectly timed as planet align. Soon the air
will again fill of orange and burnt reds,
smitten with hints of apple and rich spice.
Skin will tingle in the freshly chilled
days…reminders of the coming frost.

Project 365: A Year in Words, Day 255

an unopened envelop sits
nothing unusual, the mail often
waits quietly on a single stand
table bought entirely for the purpose
of holding abandoned posts
until it can no longer, becoming
too much and half goes to recycling–
still sealed. it’s supposed to be
shredded–personal information and all;
who can be bothered when the content
go unread? shuffled and thinned
to just one piece: a doctor’s note;
labs and instructions… very routine,
my routine.  in six months I will
pretend to forget, staring
blankly at a paper on the board
in the kitchen… as if it were a ghost.
today it collects some more dust;
just a little longer, avoiding
irresponsible sadness.

Project 365: A Year in Words, Day 253

“Anchor Bitch, pull up! We’re outta here!”
The captain, my dad, shouted from the helm…
though quite unnecessary on a pontoon.
“Nothing’s biting here.”
I looked at my mom, catching fish
on the other side of the boat, inches away.
“We’ll move up over there; the fish
run over there this time of day.”
And so we move the boat 20 yards.
Anchor down. Repeat again in 20 minutes.

Prompt: tweetspeak poetry August theme of fishing

Project 365: A Year in Words, Day 251

I often think about the promises made, oh-so-long ago…
and the stories I’ve shared since you left us all here
to make sense of a world without you in it. It seems odd,
now, you telling me I’d write your story; you the consummate
storyteller in the relationship, and I the always eager audience.
But I can hear you now in my head telling me I always had it–
I only gave you the stage. And now… after having to take
a stage myself–literally in the shadow
of your ever stylish shoes–do I realize,
what you were truly asking, and what it was
I benignly agreed to see through.

For a long time I searched boxes, looking for our letters
only to find one, quick note you scribbled
hastily stuffing poems in an envelope
someone handed you on a subway platform.
On further thought, love, it was I who penned
most of our notes; you told me once you were
horrible at returning them, but my scripts
made you smile. Your smile was enough
recompense for my words then.

With love, your huckleberry friend.

Project 365: A Year in Words, Day 250

I wonder what it says about the world
when there are super hero underwear
in a messy heap in the clearance bin?
Batgirl — not in my size;
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles–too green
(and are they really even super heros?);
Hulk and Spiderman–no, and no
(I think the reasons obvious);
no Wonder Woman in sight,
not even a sparkly Super Girl.
And I wonder what it says about me
when at last I find my size,
and refuse to have Captain America
coming out my pants? Not even for $3.

Project 365: A Year in Words, Day 247

Squirrels are shady little fuckers
scurrying about stealing nuts
and bird feed and bagels from park
benches. Diabolical purveyors
of garden goods and bread crumbs.
The birds took the wrap, but
it was the squirrels who screwed
over Hansel and Gretel, kids–
they never stood a chance.
Madly twitching their ferocious tails–
planning, plotting.