Trash poem No. 2

A trashy little poem (FB - three years ago)

If your cart is full
when you haul it to the curb,
and the moon is full and rising,
what else is left but to think of someone
else not with you in the evening
and write blank verse on the internet.

And of all non-people, FB thought I would want to share it. Well, okay. It's no skin off my nose. But not without comment. And not with a damned 'See more..."

The trashy poem I wrote three years ago –

and posted on FB –

is no better

and no worse

than it ever was -

or will be.

But I have changed -

my socks and my

shirts,

and I have taken on weight

and gray hair

and taken some off –

I mean the weight -

but it’s true that my wife uses a scissors –

but I cannot help it if

she makes pie.

But I have not changed who I love –

unless it is for more -

or for less.

Well, that’s just not true –

but I’m certainly not going to change what

I said at this point.

It’s not that far off.

Like the moon.

(Been to Andromeda lately?)

But nothing is more impossible

for me

than staying the

same.

And if a cat steps on my

keyboard

that’s not

my fault

either.

Were it not for opposable thumbs we wouldn’t need a spacebar at all.

My point -

and I hope, if you find one,

you will let me know just what it is -

my point just barely clears the low bar for trash.

Because, after all these years I do love you.

I just don’t know who I am

or what love is

or where in the world you

are.

And who are you?

It’s not that I am entirely mistaken

about everything,

but with the recycling in the blue bin

and the trash in green bin

and the blue bin goes out every other week –

and it stays in every other week -

and that’s to say nothing at all about the

compostables -

some of which I bundle

with twine

and some of which I just

toss onto my own

pile -

I should remind you

that no one forced you to read this trash -

and maybe I wasn’t writing this to you

anyway.

Now don’t you feel

embarrassed for reading someone

else’s poem?

But the FBI has a history

of rooting around in other

people’s blue bins and

green bins -

(but they generally stay out of the

compostibles.)

And Facebook is almost the same thing -

without the Intelligence.

Don’t trip over coincidences.

There’s a handy curb on both sides of the street

you might trip over in real time if you want to –

unless there a ditches

that you can just as easily fall into -

or not.

But as I was saying,

if I love you

I don’t know what I am

saying.

And what I mean

is anyone’s guess,

but I am just as sure as the world

that I have seen something

in a woman’s eyes.

Which one,

and which time,

and how often

and for how

long

is nobody else’s business.

And I’m not even sure

about me -

and you.

It’s about once a week

that I care enough to

hall my cart to the curb

and if I howl,

I howl.

And I mean at the moon

by the curb

at the end

of my

concrete

driveway.

But -

And I have to know:

is it the light true

or is it reflected?

And how is it that my eyes

see the absence of light

in the night?

And sometimes the very black

is like the fur of my cat –

soft wandering between the LED’s

on my way to the bathroom.

Which one of us wanders more

I could not say.

I couldn’t walk

a straight line at that

hour if I tried.

(Is door jam one word or

two?)

The important thing

is not something I wish to

spell out at this time.

And unless I am writing

to you,

I am not writing to you.

Come to think of it

I’m not even sure I believe

what I saw in your eyes.

This is trash –

too many words by half –

or more.

But I’m not going to take

anything back.

I don’t stand by anything

I said and didn’t mean –

And I don’t stand by what I meant

and didn’t say.

And I already said too many times

that I don’t really know what I mean

anyway.

So don’t bother trying

to read between the lines –

it’s just white space.

(Insert emoticon here)

Pardon me,

this is just trash

and I am taking it to the moon.


If you've come this far, listen to Paul Simon. I'm just playing around, here. He sings about the true light.