Seeing Red

Amidst a mess of document

left in a box in this old home,

new to us these last few years,

mixed among the old receipts

for plumbing work and seedling trees

and appliance manuals

for appliance dinosuars

long gone to their extinction,

I found a weathered yellow sheet

Typed upon in fading blue,

a restrictive covenant

that pierced my heart. Could it be true?

Did my predecessor here,

in this vibrant melting pot,

this neighborhood of polyglots,

seek, back then to enshrine

his bigotry upon the land

from that point and for all time?

Yes, my friends, I’m sad to say,

around the time my dad was born,

some lofty ass took it to mind

to codify a huge red line

around this humbled cot of mine.

Talking with Grandfather in his Cluttered Workshop

Am I a hoarder? Surely no!

This workshop might belie that, though…

Full of bins of salvaged parts

of broken things from long ago.

That bin of wheels from broken carts

I though might be replacement parts

for whom a use has not been found

These odd bits, we’ll use for arts?

My thinking here might not be sound.

But I like having parts around

to employ when something breaks

And another can’t be found.

Still… None of this was some mistake!

Imagine all the things we’ll make.

Imagine all the things we’ll make!

An Unplanned Siesta

Again, I find myself

Standing at a crossroads,

Pondering directions.

Unsure which path to take.

Should I? Could I? Perhaps?


The sun is overhead.

At the roadside, flowers.

Birdsong lilts from afar.

Wheat heads rustle nearer.


It’s been a long journey,

Full of rush and bother,

That led me to this place.


Beside these thoroughfares

I shall pause, breathe, relax.


There’s time for a siesta.