Jimmy

Paul had a girl named Andrea

and he pitched us a plan.

Jimmy gave me a look

that said, "bad idea."

He was always a cautious cat until he wasn't. 

Paul and I talked him into it. 

We turned on to Andrea Lane and Jimmy backed the truck right up under the street sign. 

Paul tried to pry the sign off

He pushed and pulled and pushed and pulled.

Jimmy and I were good for nothing. 

We couldn't reach it.

We sorta kept a lookout.

Paul finally got it loose

and Jimmy drove like a scalded dog in that little Toyota pickup. 

We got some late night breakfast and laughed and laughed, reveling in our victory. 

Jimmy's gone now. 

A monster got him. 

And who can defeat a monster?

Jimmy tried and then went to be with God. 

I didn't make it to his funeral. 

I think Paul went.

Maybe Danny made it.

I had something but then again we've all got something,

a lost dog, a busted air conditioner, the kid's first Girl Scout meeting, 

an aging Grandmom, a selfish fear of death, or some other dragon

that prevents us from saying goodbye to a friend.

Jimmy was my good friend. 

A Well Written Tribute to Jennifer Frey

I didn't know her.  I do remember the stories of locker room harassment of female reporters.  This piece by Dave McKenna about former Washington Post sports writer, Jennifer Frey, is really poignant.  It forced me to hold back tears as I read it at work.  Linking it here because it deserves to be read and maybe a handful of people will find it who otherwise wouldn't have.


The Writer Who Was Too Strong To Live

Disregarding the Laws of Science

She took her wings and ran
with a diamond in one ear
and another lost in her makeup kit.

I smoked a cigarette
as if I were Joe Friday
and wondered if three weeks
in her life made any difference,
difference being the answer to division,
and indifference, her way of showing it.

She fell in and out of my tumultuous dreams
disregarding the laws of science
and flew out of reach

I discovered the meaning of time,
that time is relative, relatively short,
and wasted time catches up to you.

Enabling

The slit of your skirt
enabling the perfection
of the surface
of your skin

Little water
enabling the
scenario
of my hand
on the perfection
of the surface
of your skin

Loneliness
enabling a little more
and that little more
enabling regret.

The Meaning of It All

There is a glue in my brain
helping me keep my shit together

Sometimes words make love in there
and sentences are formed

Sometimes they collide, explode,
or run away
and her doe eyes
tell me I've injured a beautiful creature

Sometimes words lie in wait
like childhood monsters
so I jump away from the bed
for fear that they will grab hold
of my legs

Brain, glue, words
Grain, whobirds
Wrainbluegourds
Blandwoolgirls

Irises

I played piano on a rainy Sunday night
swimming in a blood red bottle
of $9 Kendall Jackson
as the vase on the coffee table
reminded me
of a night
that will
never happen again.

You had bought flowers,
irises,
and asked what I thought.

Without looking up from
my magazine,
I said,
"They're beautiful."

An argument ensued,
about my not listening,
your past indiscretion,
the nature and composition
of the space-time continuum.

Somehow we ended up
in bed
with apologies,
and clothes,
and sweet nothings,
scattered around the room.

Now I buy fresh
irises
every few days
and they are beautiful
and you aren't here
to see them.

Rising and Falling

There is rising and falling
in a world of meticulous design.

Moonrise, nightfall,
a rise to power,
a fall from grace.

But the world of my design
was the sweat of your skin,
the pleasure of your laugh,
and the rise and fall
of your meticulous body,

rising and falling,
rising and falling.