Leaking

the mother feeds her child

again, under a roof, under

the rain,

 and water drips

in drip drab drops 

little liquid lashes 

each landing in

the empty box 

of pampers 

and the box has

no bottom and no

base to hold water

baby cries and

ceiling leaks 

baby cries and

mama leaks

baby cries

and mama cries

but no one comes

running / Mother 

remembers and 

moves the towel

and quiets the child 

and covers her breast

and watches the tv

with only one color

until he falls, finally, 

to sleep. 

A Good One

A Good One is like
a pop song that sticks

it hits the right notes
early on and get to the chorus quick

like "love marches toward victory
and sings to God above,

yet if I had the answers,
you know I wouldn't need your love"

The verse is something distant
or mumbled in between

some hum-drummed slurs so
slung beneath the sturdy tentpole's beam

and right before we find ourselves
at the foot of some great wall

like Jesus, lust or Mexico,
we can jump it and we can fall

"love runs from marching
words and it runs from a marching beat

it runs from marching orders
and it runs from tapping feet"

for Love is not a victory march
beneath the summer sun;

love is broken, battered, bruised-
reserved for a good one.

Enlivened

Enlivened by the sound of your
change in volume and the
crash of a plate upon
the floor,

he comes out in colors
red and purple
and words,
he comes out in words

here he is again
spewing ash and fire
he flicks at you like
a little dog

he pokes and he
prods and he kneels right
beside, but when you
bit back

he puts up his hands
and he laughs and
turns blue and green
and waits and smolders.