The itch is
irresistable
then forgotten then
accidentally scratched.
Patiently
the heart waits
for stillness
when healthy skin
can grow.
Posted in poem
For a few pages, I thought that veterinary medicine would be my new career. But I am too squeamish to trim Caper’s toenails so it’s not going to work out. Dr. Trout selfconsciously follows in the tradition of James Herriot (All Creatures Great and Small) and he does a good job of explaining why and how veterinary medicine has come to look so much like human medicine and include chemotherapy and Neuticles.
Posted in book review
The moment I step out the front door
my thoughts tear off
like they’re on three leashes
after five different squirrels.
The tulips this morning were
drawn up to their full height
fresh and reckless.
Last night I woke over and over
fuzzy thinking
sliding around in butter and
swilling red wine.
Out of the sun,
junkies and bag collectors
debate themselves and find things
are not where they left them.
Pagans are in the meeting room.
After work
I will head straight home.
Posted in poem
Do you have eggs and flour? If not, why not? If yes, great. You are rich. You can make pasta. Fresh pasta is the third great joy of this year and it is sitting patiently in your kitchen.
One of the many unpleasant consequences of losing my mother ten years ago was I lost any real enjoyment in the kitchen. Cooking was one of her passions and whenever I tried it I would miss her. I would become anxious and miserable.
One of my favorite meals when I first moved to Brooklyn was as follows:
I would mix the tuna into the cottage cheese and use the baby carrots as utensils. No muss! No fuss!
Now I know the secret of cooking: all true joy is in action. At lunch sometimes I sit and watch the sushi chefs silently slice and tweeze a full salmon into sushi size pieces, dressing it like it’s going to the Oscars.
I can make you fresh pasta on a week night- two eggs, one cup flour, butter and parmesan- one hour and we can sit and eat. Tell me everything.
Posted in muttering
Was what I called the old black and white street cat while I carried him in a cardboard box from the library on Dwight Street to the vet. He was a good cat and now he’s gone.
Posted in found
How is confidence to be learned?
The smoggy grey of the sky above grimy buildings during the day,
the smirking bottom lip of the moon at night.
Entropy apparent, decay on all surfaces
wrinkles
mold
stretchmarks
dust
exhaustion
peeling paint.
The common loss of things and people
points to a guilty verdict.
A few circumstances show instead a worldly indifference to good and bad.
“Hey.” And I turn from the bar to see a friend of my true childhood, gone for twelve years.
A slip of paper with my oldest friend’s Italian phone number passed to me by a stranger.
The tiny dog, waiting for me, alien to judgement.
That direction, that is where I want to go.
Posted in muttering
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