Poems

What a wonderful time to be a smoker!

Hearing Patrick ready to defend himself,
Astrid fled. The tune was not new
And ultimately not her problem.

Patrick was always quick to insist
That he couldn't be sexist
Because there are more than two

Women in his life
He is willing to give
The same respect he offers men.

But Greg had wanted to visit her family
So he can talk to Patrick. Astrid was already gone.
What a wonderful time to be a smoker!

Outside in the November chill–
The wind sprinting through brown fields
Carrying distant moos from cows unseen–

Astrid passed the shed once filled with farm equipment
(Now filled with her childhood leftovers)
And hid in its shadow.

Astrid used to read in the cornfields
when her sisters and parents and their friends
were all too overwhelming, but now can’t remember

Who her mom is renting the fields to
Anymore. Uncertain who might come to
Chase her back over the fence; she stayed

Behind the shed as the smoke 
From her cigarettes rose like a 
Hidden chimney warming her heart. 

Before the earth’s wet could creep
Through her jeans, Astrid heard Greg
Step outside with Patrick in tow.

Astrid blew her partner a kiss;
A small cloud of smoke that said, 
“I am here and I am safe, but do not tell anyone.” 

Hearing the voices disappear and the door close,
Astrid pulled out another cigarette.
What a wonderful time to be a smoker!

***

A conversation at work

A: Hello!
B: Hi, good to see you!
A: Pretty good, how are you?
B: I'm doing well, how are you?
A: *confused look*
B: Oh, sorry. You just told me.
A: Tired?
B: Very

***

Written before the big sprite spill

Eating pop tarts 
and drinking sprite
after T came over 
to help me clean. 
It has been a difficult
two months, but
the mess persists. Almost
midnight with the
last load of laundry
almost finished. 
How sweet to share
a breakfast desert 
and a baseball drink.
How sweet to be in love
in the autumn and my fall.

***

Things to do in Chicago

Walking around
Appreciating public architecture
Listening to loud music
And getting pretty tipsy
Until your girlfriend comes home

Sitting cross legged on a pillow
And playing that dice game
Your brother got you for Christmas
Still listening to loud music
While eating dried cranberries

Watching Ina Garten on the couch
Imagining every description a poem
"I have a charcoal chimney...
It is the easiest thing in the world.
And I filled it like two thirds full with charcoal"

Go to sleep easy and feel amazing
Every day

***

Film Criticism

The more I go to my local cinematheque
The more I wonder if I am the only one
Out here having fun. The only one
Walking through parks and fucking
And making dirt cups when T gets
An ear infection. Because sometimes
It feels like all I see are sad men in
Grey houses who do not care who
Lives or dies. And that seems like
And incredibly boring way to live
When you could do something else
Instead.

***

In Lieu of Self-Reflection

I really don't understand why
You would call this an Oedipal
Thing. It's not about killing

Some dad
It is about killing
My dad

And by killing my dad I do
Of course mean winning this
Game of Ticket to Ride