Mirror

 

Be careful

What you wish for

Your pieces

One day appearing

In the mirror’s visage

You now the reflection

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Ego Stains and Heart Burns

                      Just how he is

 

Bragging about asylums

Imagine the conceit

Thinking to impress

With imaginary madness

 

Posing with cigarettes

Burning

To withered ash

Imagine

He just lights up a new one

Plenty more

In the pack

 

Consuming

Always digesting

Someone

Sucking their life

Down to ashes

Just ashes

 

Adopting their ways

Absorbing them

Into the blood he draws

Until they forget

Where they started

 

Siphoning daylight

Straining out

The human parts

The pain

He brings

Left with their skins

Tossed

Like stolen purses

 

Found in the dumpster

Behind Ma’s

Hidden beneath greasy lies

Of no MSG

And broken dreams

 

I wonder

If he dreams

And meets himself

On some street noir

Crossing in the mist

To get away

Holding up his hand

When called out to

Offers of a smoke

And wisdom

Spurned

The mystery of he

Unraveled

To obvious ends

 

I wonder

If he’s convinced himself

To give himself

Another chance yet

I wonder

If he predicted this

By now the only

Choice left

I wonder why

He bothers

Any longer

With this game

 

The lines

The same

The regrets

The echoed words

I remember

The signs

Unchanged

Repeating

The same moves

Over and over

No news

 

Bragging about the road

Feigning his loneliness

As though stricken

As though it were his fate

Imagine the conceit

Thinking to impress

With his emptiness

 

Smoke another cigarette

Burning

To withered ash

Imagine

You just light up a new one

Plenty more

In the pack

 

Stealing meaning

Dropping names

No pride in either

Of his own

Nothing sacred

No crime

Everything is nothing

So who cares?

 

Smoke another cigarette

 

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Strings

Grasping strings

Little boy

Afraid

Even one balloon’s escape

Your tragedy

 

Make haste

The light of day

Near wasted

Little boy

Run

So many colors

Yet untested

 

Tantrums

Disguised as angst

Selfishly indulging

Her sympathy

Demanding attention

And acceptance

All orchestrated

 

Taken in

She is lovely in kindness

Faithful

To her truth

How long

Before she wakes

To your bloodsucking

Soul snatching ways

 

A lifetime

You have spent

Pretending to suffer

Toying with homelessness

Acting the wanderer

Seeking

When all you really are

Is a bum

 

Little boy

Grown over

Afraid

Grasping

At anything

That seems real

Grasping

At anyone

 

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Dog Crimes

You’d think they were hungry

 

In excess of 300 pounds together, the two of them are difficult to ignore.

The heavier one is the easier to cow. A teddy bear, he is.

The taller one, the tester of boundaries, knows her head will rest atop the surface even of the counter I have taken refuge at.

I don’t understand how she could have lost her mind so utterly as to think this is an ok thing to do. It never has been.

She hasn’t, and knows she is committing an offense, and is just smart enough to read my mood. Exhausted, unwilling to do battle, preoccupied. Needing to just sit, eat, and zone out silently.

“Aha!” she seems to think. “Me Ma has no energy to master me! Here’s my chance!” I can almost see the pop up cartoon bubble of thoughts over her head.

She has always been this way, with the crafty deductions.

She sidles over on giraffe legs and sniffs counter edge. I tell her no. Squinting her eyes, she pushes her enormous head right onto the counter and sniffs farther across its surface. Squinting, in anticipation of a head smacking. Imaginary, since I don’t smack her in the head.

I tell her no again, and “get down”, and she sees I would do almost anything to avoid leaving my seat to enforce this. She sniffs farther and squints at her imaginary beating.

Damn it! She KNOWS I don’t want to get up, which is why she is pushing this. She would never pull this were I not looking glued to my chair.

She is smart enough to pull this when I am on the phone too. Somehow sensing when it’s business, or a bill collector.

Toddlers seem to have this talent too, don’t they?

You can’t get off the phone, can’t verbally address them during this very serious conversation, can’t very well chase them, and definitely do not want to become exasperated and burst out yelling. Or worse, into the colorful language that comes in my case.

She has brazenly carried out NEVER OK crimes before my eyes, more than once, with me helpless to kill her or reprimand her for the gravity of the phone call at hand, and she always seems to know.

 

She has snaked her tongue out, about to lick the counter, right in front of me.

I scream, “Have you lost your mind? NO!!!” and get up like I mean serious business. At the very last moment she jerks her massive skull off of the counter and runs.

I could kill her.

 

If she weren’t so pretty, I might.

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Stop Begging!

Dogs

Running panting

Something to eat

Something more

Begging

Drooling

Dragging selves across the floor

Please?

 

No!

Lay down!

Stop begging!

 

Pathetic eyes

Pleading

Appealing

Disgusting all the same

Making themselves known

Whining

Slobbering

And groaning

 

You’d think they were hungry

 

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Under My Skin

Sensation

Excruciating

So amplified

It all feels like

Pain

Air caressing

My skin

Itches

Maddening

Like pinpricks

Or bee stings

Sometimes searing

Like fever or sunburn

Abrasion

Delirious with hate I hate this

Crawling

Like something must be

There

 

Sometimes

I can’t control it

I fight

I give in

Give up

Get up

Declare war again

Again

 

My joints swell

Elbows shoulders ribs hips wrists

Lumpy

What to do with this?

Scratch

Don’t scratch

Grip my arms

Hard as I can stand

Hot water ice water

Rub bathe cover uncover

Peace out get angry run relax

Ignore curse itch twitch lotion no lotion diet no diet meds no meds

Soda no soda anger no anger chocolate no coffee?

You must be kidding me

Try to sleep

Can’t sleep

Is there no relief?

 

Sometimes

It all works

Sometimes

Nothing will

 

Of course

 

Autoimmune Disorder

Localized Lupus

—Or?????

They say it

But they say it

Doesn’t matter which one

It really is

The treatment is the same and would I like a biopsy and a scar and that won’t help me but at least I could call it by it’s proper name

So many one of any is whichever one

To blame

My immune system

Is confused

Attacking

Fat in my arms

Like an enemy

Busy busy busy

Making

“Inflammatory Nodules”

They

Hurt and swell and itch and make me sick.

 

Sometimes

It takes time off

Sometimes

I win

Sometimes

It won’t quit

We’re in the war again

Again

 

And now

Hello

Fibro

Dreams awake

Flaring

Familiar

It’s nasty snare

Now and then

I’m scared

I am

Here and there

Aware

My efforts

Broken futile useless lame

Made so

Gamely

Made so

In vain

 

Good thing I’m not fat, eh?

I can’t get used to it

I’ve got

Something

Under my skin

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How are You?

How can I tell you what’s wrong?

How can I say anything but “I’m fine” when you ask?

How often do you really want an answer, when you ask anyone how they are?

My guesses, as follows:

I can’t.

I can’t.

Almost never.

 

The truth is, you don’t really want to know that I’m not fine. And if I were to tell you anyway, you could only respond by giving me advice. Advise me to feel differently, to see differently, to speak differently, or at least, to act differently. At the very least, for your own comfort, I could manage this, couldn’t I?

And in truth, I do.

 

It’s especially unkind to answer truthfully when asked how one is with ones morning latte hanging in the balance. It’s the price for the privilege of forking over 4 dollars for drinking in the ability to feel and act human for the day. I NEED that latte, and would pay extra for it if only you could bypass the routine questions; “How’s it GO-ing?! What are you UP to today?”

Fack!

“Uh, it’s going.”

“Uh, not much.”

I want to surprise him with the truth, so perhaps he would cease asking. Maybe, tell him how I am, or what I am doing today.

I’m thinking maybe he already sees I have a bed head and swollen eyes at one o’clock in the afternoon.

Sometimes I’d like to say “It’s none of your facking business. Just make my coffee.”

Or “I don’t know you, don’t like you, and don’t feel like talking to you at all. So stop it.”

 

Instead I tell him his lattes are perfect and I hope he has a great day.

Truly, neither of these are a lie, and you can’t say I didn’t listen when my Mom told me not to say anything at all if I couldn’t say something nice.

Still, I wish he’d spare me the questions so I didn’t have to think about answers that he’d like, ones that hurt my head. Ones that wouldn’t break his stride, his rhythm, with his “It’s ALL good!” and his “RIGHT-on!” patter whilst swirling around in the little coffee stand and working the machines. I’m afraid his head might explode.

So, I tip him a dollar, for the trouble I saved him from. It’s my contribution to acting better than I feel [what society prescribes]. And to the comfort of others.

 

I don’t mind at all when you TELL me things. I love a good story, or even a good observation. These can be responded to, or not. The one question I never mind is “Guess what?” I never know what to expect then, but that you are going to tell me something, instead of asking. And for some reason, people do like to tell me things; Stories, secrets, ideas, dreams. Epiphanies. I love to hear them, and collect them in my consciousness. Sometimes they even seed a new story of my own.

But this is not what you are taught to do. I know. I know all the “tricks” I myself was taught; my life in sales, service, and tips. Yep, the trick is to ask questions. It makes people feel special, and nearly all people like to talk about themselves. Find out what they are interested in and then you don’t have to talk at all, for they will just take over. And they really like you for showing an interest. Even if you don’t really have one.

 

But the rest of the trick is what to do when what interests the person leaves you staring and wondering with your limited people skills and even more limited interest, what to do next? “Well, uh, have a nice day then!”

OK.

Maybe next time you won’t ask.

 

Here’s where I myself learned to make statements, observations, and pay compliments.

Of course, always leaving room to gracefully not respond or interact if that were my guests’ wish. Working very early morning shifts taught me that some people appreciate not talking and interacting. In fact, some prize it. Silence.

Experience also taught me the mistake of greeting everyone with a cookie cutter, boisterous and cheerful demeanor. Your guest/client/customer is sometimes [usually] not there to see YOU. It’s about them, not you.

I have served, in various capacities, people coming directly from funerals, and hospitals where loved ones lay dying. I have served people recovering from crippling injuries and illnesses, divorces, nervous breakdowns, and fresh from putting beloved pets to sleep.

Everybody needs food, some of us need coffee, and all people will at some point be in need of services when they would rather not deal with people at all.

 

There was another, more unexpected lesson in these experiences:

I have been made in awe of the grace I have sometimes been treated with by individuals and families who were clearly suffering from life’s blows. I will never forget those people, their selflessness, their generosity of spirit and their ability to think of a stranger [me], in their time of need, of sadness. It was my job to provide something for them, yet they gave me so much more than I could provide. They didn’t want my job to be harder than it was. They didn’t want me to be uncomfortable. Grace. They had grace.

 

So, this is what I try to think of when the coffee guy brays at me these days I roll in with sunglasses on, my hair matted and a shield around my soul. The kindness of people I have encountered, bigger than I, who asked me how I was and meant it, asking at the lowest points in their own lives.

He belts out “Heeeeyyyyyy!! How’s it GO-ing?!”

I manage to say, “I’m good.” And laugh. It’s my own little joke.

I AM good at this. I learned on the other side.

 

I put the cup to my lips, sip and breathe solace in the first creamy espresso and milk, and drive away smiling with my snarled up hair.

 

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Web

Everyday is just the same

Everyday

Everyday

Everyday comes back to haunt me

Slaps me in the face

Everyday

Everyday

I remember what you said

I forget it yet I get it

It never goes away

 

Remind me rewind me

Bring me back from the dead

Try me deny me

Unwind me from this web

Deprive me despise me

Bring me back from this edge

Find me revise me

Untie me from my head

 

Everyday is like a promise

Everyday

Everyday

Everyday keeps coming on

Like I’m being born again

Everyday

Anyway

It’s like a vow that can’t be kept

Everyday

I’d forget it if you’d let it

Slip away

 

Remind me rewind me

Bring me back from the dead

Try me defy me

Unwind me from this web

Design me define me

Bring me back from this edge

Find me unbind me

Untie me from my bed

 

Don’t you think it’s time?

Don’t you think I know a lie?

Don’t you think I know it’s fine

The way we go on with your life?

 

Everyday

You see faces

Everybody’s is the same

Everywhere you look

You see someone you can’t blame

Everyday

Every place

Everywhere

You lay your head

You’d forget it

If you’d let me just let it

Fall away

 

Remind me unwind me

Bring me back from the dead

Try me defile me

Rewind me in your web

Revive me survive me

Bring me back from the edge

Find me unbind me

Untie me from your head

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Stealing From Lions

His hyena laugh

Cackling

Brays like obscenity

Simultaneously

Brazen and sneaky

 

His hyena kind

Admittedly

Steals from lions

Unabashedly

Slinking and peeking

 

His hyena mind

Naturally

Hunts for openings

Opportunistic

Testing and fleeing

 

His hyena eye

Watching

Looks for weakness

Voracious

Sniffing and eating

 

His hyena life

Discarding

The indigestible

Spitting

Bones and skin

Rejecting, retreating

 

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Insidious

 

Insidious

He approaches

Wrapped in light

Aglow in a duster

Of good intentions

Radiant with them

Well dressed in deceit

 

Boots scrape

In innocent bumbling

A hangdog look

Disarming

Sympathy provoking

Humbling

 

Counting on

Unawareness

Hesitation

A stumble

Enough time to stun

With intrusive thoughtfulness

Insidious

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