The Pink Ticket

A playground of many muses.

The Pink Ticket - A playground of many muses.

Project 365: A Year in Words, Day 130

Today’s thought will be thrust upon you–
unsuspectingly, by Duncan Sheik;
a song I never did like, catapulting itself
after    all     these    years
over the air–
waves and bytes crashing into my radio
as I sit trapped at an intersection.
Words and music–
daggers poking at the empty spaces;
hallowed places where we meet again…
where the song queues
we dance around your tiny apartment,
laughing. I roll my eyes as you sing
falling in the brown sofa…

and I am barely breathing.

Project 365: A Year in Words, Day 129

Met a boy today
who tried to impress
with his savvy dress
and a cute little smile;
talking to me
three aisles away
seeking  opinion
on coordination of navy
with yellow polka dots–
an adorable one piece
for his little sister,
sleeping in the cart
as he inched closer
just not too far–
sticking close
to mom’s leg.
Just in case.

Project 365: A Year in Words, Day 128

“How old are you?”
She asked. Pen poised
at the ready;
eager to ink my
numbers into a file–
she has a name tag,
manila folder… if
I answer will
I fall into a slippery
slope; more questions,
more numbers in a file.
Will she ask me my weight?
Good goddess she’s going
to ask my weight!!
And where I get
my protein!
Anxiety hovers
waiting on my answer;
am I taking too long?
“My actual age?”
There! I said something.
Oh, now she looks
puzzled, “Sure.
Is there any other?”
She asks too many questions.
“There is the age I tell people.”
I’ve explained; maybe
we can move on.
“And that’s not your actual age?”
Who IS this woman
tapping her pen,
on my official file?
“Of course not.”
She laughs. Laughs?
At least she’s not writing–
she’s not a doctor…
“How about your actual age?”
How about it. I see
we are going to stay on this…
hm, let me think…
her pen is ready again…
carry the one…
she stopped smiling…
you can do this…
just say a number
any number will do
a n y number at all.

Project 365: A Year in Words, Day 126

Images of tutus floating against
a sparkling sunshine woven breeze
as notes of rocks past anthems play
we Don’t need another hero.
The mood, it strikes in the form
twirling across a broken sidewalk
unencumbered by watchers–
dizzy dancing magic.
Just for a moment
her thighs are not the nemesis,
her hair not an unruly frizzy mess,
technical details vanish
all systems fade away

for 30 seconds.

Project 365: A Year in Words, Day 122

Stifling my want to giggle gleefully
at the cheesy 80s videos–
Bananarama, really?
But no one else in the gym is laughing
several are very intensely watching
muscles flex in a mirror;
there is a green fog – cologne -
hovering over the free weights,
where (the only phrase adequately
available) douchey meatheads gather.
So this is what this place looks like after 8?
Meanwhile, Bruce is trying to be what
his director told him is Springsteen.
–This gun is for hire.–
I laugh. Oh. Indeed.

Project 365: A Year in Words, Day 121

Bring me a sunbeam
warm and true
the kind I don’t mistake
left of fall foliage for baby
butterflies skipping
across the parking lot.

And then, I’ll need a song
the kind where the guitar
sounds like the summer beach–
frivolous and eternal–
that we have all the worldly time
to laugh
to dream
to love
to live
to shine.