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In My Id (Day 295)

I could not say,
Look at my id,
I could not say and then who could I kid.
Scream in my heart,
Be in my soul,
Scream in my heart with the gory and bold.
Here is my brain,
Here are my thoughts,
Here is my brain, it is tied up in knots.
Pride of my joy,
Joy of my pride,
Pride of my joy when it wanted to chide.
My id is mine,
It is not yours,
My id is mine and it’s one I adore.
Fallen to pain,
Pleasure, desire,
Fallen to pain and it catches on fire.
I could not say,
Look at my id,
I could not say what’s created I did.

June 5, 2018

Kathy Darby (Day 288)

She was right there on B13.
Obituary: Kathy Darby,
Dead at sixty, cancer,
Leaving a husband,
Three kids, four grandkids.
In lieu of flowers…
Then the snippet ended.

The other side was what I wanted,
A picture of my father
Adorning the local newspaper,
September, 1980,
The fall preview edition,
The Town Times. He was
Harvesting apples.

Somewhere in the world,
Someone kept Kathy’s death notice,
And cleaning a pile of papers
Forty years later, found a stranger,
Picking apples, high up in a tree,
Reverse the reason to keep
This little scrap of newsprint.

May 29, 2018

STUDY: What’s the Reason for this Crash (Day 272) | Collision (Day 281)

Author’s Note: Coming back one day from getting new glasses, I was (figuratively) struck by the morbid thought of being (literally) struck by an oncoming car. It made me think about the fragility of life and a few Calvinist ideas of fate. What resulted was a poem I didn’t much care for, Day 272. About a week later, I made a second attempt, also posted below as a bonus Day 281. What do you think?

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Breakfast (Day 270)

I miss breakfast.
Not the one from this morning,
Which I am very grateful to have had,
But the breakfast from years ago.
The one that was a tradition,
That met every Sunday.
The breakfast that was a true treat,
Before I went off to college,
Before mom died, before you moved
Away. The piles of pancakes,
Snowdrifted with powdered sugar;
Mounds of meat: bacon, sausage, ham;
Fruit salad, muffins, a rolling tea kettle;
And waffles, yes, you could never
Have enough carbohydrates.
I miss this meal, this weekly meeting
Of minds, of meats, of my family.
I miss breakfast,
It is no more.

May 11, 2018