Go with it

Did you give me two poems?

Did you come at me

With teeth like spears

Flashing in a smile,

Deadly when I imagine them

In the dark?

I just want to find someone

Who loves to play!

I’m afraid you’ll get tired,

Like I did, before you reminded me

That nothing is more exciting

Than a box of costumes 

And an imagination.

Catch me

I don’t know if I’m ready to get into dating

Because I’m afraid of the feeling

Of falling in love.

Which doesn’t mean you’re perfect --

There’s so much space

Between love and perfection, 

Between who I thought I wanted

And who you turned out to be.

The pieces of you that fit with me,

The pieces of you I said wouldn’t fit,

Yet made me laugh, and laugh,

The pieces of you that definitely did not fit,

But invited me to reimagine you.

I have enough space for your shape 

If I get to know your heart.

You outshine

Who I thought you’d be

And you’re handsome.

But I don’t know if I’m ready to get into dating

Because I’m afraid of the feeling

Of falling in love.

Relationships in the Time of Corona

These times remind me of the concept of Yin and Yang, or as Wikipedia puts it, "a concept of dualism, describing how seemingly opposite or contrary forces may actually be complementary, interconnected, and interdependent in the natural world, and how they may give rise to each other as they interrelate to one another." Right now, people are being asked, en masse, to draw together for a common purpose of collective isolation, or to join forces to force themselves away from one another. Taking some time apart will help us overcome, together.

I find myself wanting to dive deeply into this contradiction, to isolate fully--as a means of protecting my friends and family--while using this moment as an excuse to connect with people at a level usually reserved for "time." 

Many deep long-term relationships -- romantic, platonic, it doesn't matter -- are intentionally built through time. Stories of our pasts are meted out judiciously, like a ration of toilet paper and hand sanitizer. Someone calculates the optimal profit/restriction ratio, sets an internal policy, and whispers, "I think you've had enough, for now. We can come back to this tomorrow."

But when the horizon of time becomes uncertain, when we are told, "You may lose your life or contribute to the loss of life of someone you love," what happens to this concept of time and connection? All that I can share with you exists in the power of my now. Text me, now. Open up to me, now. Love me, now. There might not be tomorrow. Nothing is certain. As far as I take myself away from you, I need to get correspondingly closer. 

In that spirit, there are a lot of people I love more intensely, right now. Maybe I should tell more of them.

Study Fail

You make me want to write bad poetry.

Names looping like drones--

Thoughts like, "Yeah, Yeah, Yeah," 

Or, "Let's dance, baby," 

Distract me from textbook logic games.

I'm more compelled by your smell than philosophy,

Your jokes than politics,

Your kindness than law.

When can I get you back in my bed?

Tomorrow night is too far for my fingers,

Too near for sighs,

Too long for focus,

Too short for anything other than

Scribbles on a legal pad.

The Rodent Part I

Last night, I turned into a rodent.  One moment, I was closing my eyes in anticipation of slumber, and the next, I felt the keenest alertness, with all sensations brought from background noise into foreground awareness.  I felt the motion of the air, heard midnight insects as if they were playing their winged chorus in front of me, and smelled the strong odors of breadcrumbs and my own chemical adrenaline.  Even in the dim light, I saw dull pink little toes and, to the right and left of my long grey nose, even longer whiskers. 

One might think that I would have spent a good deal of time bothering about such a transformation—like how on earth this came to pass, or what my boss would say if I were late for work, or what my family might think of me—but you would be wrong.  Those were the furthest concerns from my mind. 

A new state took over, a state of proud and furious curiosity, countered by a mortal fear. Instantly I knew that the world in front of me, the world I thought I had known, was now exponentially more vast, full of nooks and crannies and friend and foe which, either now or later, I was destined to meet.  Some sweet hand freed me from my previous life of social convention and transformed it, with all its blasted expectations, into a grand adventure. So I was off.

I scurried down the side of the bed, onto the carpet which tickled the bottom of my feet, and alongside the wall.  There, where the baseboard met the door, I knew I would find it waiting.  And I did.  A hole, which I had seen dozens if not hundreds of times before, but never bothered to inspect.  It was just my size, beckoning me into the depths of the walls within.

Symphony

Mary and Martha click and clatter, filling the executive hall with a flurry of administrative arpeggio. 

                A rest.

                “Martha.”

                “Yes, Mary.”

                “You will not believe the email I just received from our beloved Mr. Rogers CEO-Boss-Man.”

                “Won’t you give your labor?”

                “Cancel his flight to Chicago.”

                “No.”

                “Yes.”

                “No.”

                “Yes.”

                A rest.

                “Why, Mary?”

                “He no longer wants to go.”

                “After keeping you late last night to arrange the trip?”

                “Yes.”

                “He’s terrible.”

                “Horrible.”

                “Inane.”

                “Insane.”

                Mary and Martha swivel back to their instruments, striking ignited aggressions on little white letters.

                A rest.

                “Mary.”

                “Yes, Martha.”

                “Mr. Snyder CFO-Sir needs his shirts picked up from the drycleaner, and I have been sent to retrieve them.”

                Mary picks up a pen just to drop it in surprise. “You’re joking.”

                “I’m not.”

                “Unreal.”

                “For real.”

                “He thinks you graduated summa cum laude to pick up shirts?”

                “More like pick up the pieces of his life.”  They nod.

                “No appreciation.”

                “No perspective.”

                “No kidding.”

                Huffing and puffing, they swirl to squint at glowing plasma, recommencing the hall’s percussive chorus.

                A ring and the ladies jump.

                “Rogers CEO-Boss-Man.  That’s you, Mary.”

                “I wish it were you, Martha.” 

They smile.

Mary reaches for the phone.  “Why hello, Jacob.  Of course I can change the flight.  No, no problem at all.  On the website now—almost done.  Yes, I’ll send you the confirmation.  Yes, I will check your credit card to verify receipt.  Of course. Of course!  No problem.  Anything else, just call.  No, thank you!” A clang provides appropriate punctuation.

“Unbelievable.”

“Totally entitled.”

“Insufferable creature.”

“Worst boss ev-er.”

A rest.

“Mary?”

“Yes, Martha?”

“Who is worse—Rogers or Snyder?”

“Rogers,” says Mary.

“Snyder,” says Martha.  “He disdains and demoralizes, micro-manages and macro-maligns.”

“Rogers,” says Mary.  “He’ll wax and then waffle.  And—“ she leans in closer.

“What?” hushes Martha.

“He leaves nail clippings on his desk.”

“Nail clippings?”

“Indecent!”

“Unsanitary!”

“An animal!”

“A savage.”

And turning back, they clickity-clack, flicking fingers and stomping swinglines, plopping papers and banging bics, refrain resounding in their auditorium for two, own audience moved by the fury.  

Wednesday Happy Hour

Can you sit with me,

Here,

On this bench?

May I lay my head on your shoulder?

If you must know,

Today was filled with talking,

Ten-thousand words poured into a sound soup.

Now my head is full of phrases.

I’m not sure what they mean, but,

When it becomes apparent that we have successfully identified and implemented best practices that optimize processes across operational platforms through integrated solutions that reconfigure focus within vital sectors resulting in at least seven key indicators of growth including expanded market share and improved margins all while reducing costs and increasing profitability which in turn solidifies us as the industry leaders serving to usher us into a new millennium of those who work Better – Faster – Now,

I’ll be sure to let you know.

In the meantime,

Do you know what sounds nicest to me?

Your hand on my hand,

A cool breeze,

And a view of the Charles.