there is no end
to wanting a better
anything. I have
driven through
stop signs on rural
roads in afternoon
light envisioning
the reality where
I have arrived
faster at our house
and you’re happy
about it for those
few extra seconds
but time is fog
that dissipates
anyway, being
that yesterday
we loved each other
and today we
are sitting at the top
of the stairs to our
bedroom petting
the cat who survived
our downfall
and mourning the one
whose heart clotted
because of it. you
notice bubbles of
water in the blue
textured wall and
we burst into
the day’s remainder,
moving temporary
belongings around
again, this time
with no effort
of emotion, no pull-
each-other-closer
because the house
has seen its share
of endings and
beginnings, I’m
sure, if we are
to frame it in
those terms
already the memories
have taken control.
(originally published in OPEN: a journal of arts & letters, Fall 2024)
ending
Mitchell Ponds Inne
This the getaway
we take our butterflies to
yearly– the wings, do you
have a sinking
feeling? And slugs
slither along the sauna.
We toss cold water
over hot coals
of indifference.
There used to be no
privacy screen
over the windows
so we were on full
display, an everyman’s
Monet or Mona Lisa.
On the last day
of our relationship
you asked, do I look okay?
I said you
look okay. More swimming,
more coming-up-for-air,
coughing the words
out, choking on the heat
inside each one.
(originally published in Red Tree Review, Spring 2024)
Silicon Valley (Season One, Episode Eight)
When you see me on screen–
with blue jacket and plastic
glasses– listening to Zach
Woods brainstorm a plan
to pivot Pied Piper into
an app that can attract
rodents– like the fairy tale,
you’d think this guy on TV
is one lucky bastard.
But you probably didn’t
notice, because you don’t
know me, and you see hundreds
of people on screen
living the dream every day.
And you can see me in season
two and the first episode
of the show, ever–
the very first scene,
during the Kid Rock
concert– on stage with a
hundred other extras, and–
at the time, I had
just moved to Los Angeles,
and the background roles
I had been cast for
resulted in me
on a projector!
My friends at home
who got used to me
no longer being able
to meet them drunk
at Highland Tavern on
Mondays were now not
completely surprised
to see me rewindable
in their living rooms.
I felt destined for great
things, marked this only
the beginning, like
everyone else chasing
dreams in the city of angels.
But all I could afford to eat
were packets of beef
ramen, boxes of blue
Kraft mac and cheese
with water instead
of milk– no butter.
Hard-boiled eggs
kept me alive
long enough
to come home
to show friends
who were getting used
to me being able to
meet them drunk at
Highland Tavern on
Mondays my favorite clip–
with blue jacket
and plastic glasses,
I listen to Zach Woods
brainstorm a plan
to pivot Pied Piper
into an app that can
attract rodents–
like the fairy tale.
(originally published in Statement Magazine, Spring 2023)
Our Neighborhood Giant Eagle Is Closing
Everything is on sale. Where once was bread
now empty shelves and strangers scanning aisles
for the last shred of good. As it closes you say
you are a little sad, but it was never your favorite
grocery store. We have been fighting a lot lately–
from our favorite tv shows, to what type of dog
we might get, to which sugary cereals to pile
into our cart with all these cheap products
that don’t fit together: taco shells, toothpaste,
store-brand mac and cheese– would you believe
a month ago this place was stocked with everything
we need? We try to talk about marriage,
our deepwater eyes zooming through the dark
into a future where we guess what will become
of this building while seeking sustenance we know
other shoppers already bought the last of.
We need a sign to give us clearance to move on–
then the cashier, ringing each item slowly
as if savoring each would save his job, repeats
thirty percent off, thirty percent off, thirty percent off,
and a little more every day.
(originally published in Ohio Edit, 2018)