December 28

Three feet behind Christmas

December 28 is trailing.

She needs a haircut desperately.

Her younger brother lives in New York.

Feted,

on the social circuit.

 

Dec 28 is sallow,

reminds her neighbors of a really long line.

I got her a job licking stamps at the unemployment agency.

No one sends her envelopes out.

Yet in her spare time she wins poker tournaments.

Her face hasn’t betrayed her in years.

I Live

I have been haunted by the voice of Autumn

taken the wind for a weekend lover,

argued with the reeking river.

I live in a castle of mattresses

and I take it sweet and slow getting out in the morning.

Bacon fries itself in the kitchen,

doing such fantastic somersaults in the bombastic grease.