Abdi House, Summer of '93

You could find affection in this;

A vicious pet
Nestled against your shoulder,
You kindly rest your cheek on her.

She growls and roars at the rest of the world
While gently nudging you with buffered recoil.

You feed her,
Keep her safe.
In return, she showers you with hot brass
Purely because you were born left handed.

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The man in the hunter moon

I caught him this morning As he slipped past the glass ribbon Just as the lights were coming on. I caught him tip-toed Peeking back over the fence Ruddy faced and embarrassed. He flashed me a wink Knowing I won’t catch him again At least before next October.

Chocolate Pudding

I remember this one thing. She had prepared a treat, Instant pudding and Cool Whip Placed in dinnerware. Gathered on a platter, Parental, familial, domestic inspiration From a Good Housekeeping spread. “Quick treats for the loved ones in your life.” The presentation alone, Made the simple victuals, Seem luxurious and fine To a child. But, that’s not the thing I remember. It was the strange curiosity I felt. The lack of excuse, need, Or celebratory affair. The random event, so poignantly void of obligation, And presented to us With a white hot glow of lunacy and glee, Never seen before (and never seen again). My imagination vacillates on the etiology Of her sudden, abrupt, and unusual behavior; Maniacal rush of joy? Too much Mother's Little Helper? Spite for my father? The zenith of effort to effuse love? This was one of the greatest outward expressions of love My mother had; Culminating in 5 minutes of mixing milk and powder And placed in dainty dishes. I ate the pudding With ...

The Phonetics of Love

“I love you.” You , referring to you. “…too.” ..., Referring to me. You never say the word “you”. “You” has not been remunerated In the sense that love has a value. Maybe I still need to earn it. For now, “You” as referring to me, Has been replaced with the schwa. It’s that upside down e you see in the dictionary to know how to pronounce words. But, more precisely, in this case, It’s a mid-central rounded vowel. Like the sound you hear At the end of the word “pencil”. On the cloudier days, I’ve even been replaced With no sound at all. Instead, I am an initial unaspirated glottal stop. It’s the silent pause that we all make Before we start a sentence That begins with a vowel. One day I hope for the full “I love you.” But, that may have to wait. Because right now, Apparently, I am not worth the effort, To get all of “You”.

Peculiar Pabulums

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