neatly broken streets

first easter spent in
the land of bent spoons,
neatly broken streets

coltrane is a lonesome
memory in an alley
down the road

i had a hooker give
me the finger when
i said hello

she must have seen
just how poor i really

i remember these
streets decades ago

writing poems on the
corner for shy women
that couldn’t handle
their booze

i remember one
whispered into
my ear how she
loved my way
with words

her husband shot me
a look like i should
have known better


not all drunks
know how to
throw punches

while i was out grocery shopping

my mother nearly died
a month ago, while i was
out grocery shopping

congestive heart failure

i made a chicken noodle
casserole the night before

i figured they would have
thought i tried to kill her

she told the squad she didn’t
want to die in the house because
i would have to sell it

and no one wants a house
where x marks the spot

by the time i got home
the only way i knew she
was gone was the front
door wasn’t locked

i checked my emails
and text messages


i made myself a drink
and decided i didn’t want
to think the worst for at
least a few hours

i texted my sister and asked
if she had spoken to her

she said no

i told her what was up
and started to make calls
to the hospitals

thankfully, the first hospital
i called was where she was

sick minds think alike i suppose

the woman i was talking to said
to call back in an hour or so and
the nurse on call could tell us more

they gave me the room number
i texted my sister all the info

she made the call so we both
could be on it

her room number had changed
it had gone from a lung issue
to a heart issue

my mother was in the hospital
for four days

eventually, i found out her blood
pressure was basically at the level
of someone walking toward the light

my sister doesn’t want to think
that her mother could be dead soon

she thinks mom should be better now

it’s been a month

i know that my mother is going to
have good days and many more
bad days

i have a hard time coping that she’s
going to beat me to death’s door

who knows

maybe i have a bottom of the ninth
rally in me after all


i see your smoldering eyes and wonder
when my luck is going to run out

the ego isn’t strong enough to ward off
jealousy and every negative thought
of sabotage that rests deep in my soul

she tells me to simply let go of the past

i wonder if there is a pill or something
better than all these bottles begging
for some attention

and it’s not that i cling to the past like
some child’s blanket

my brain doesn’t possess the ability
to forget

and all the troubling shit

the abuse

the violence

the never-ending sadness

those are fresh like new pages of
a book

and trust me, i would love to write
it all out of me and start the fuck

but the only way i know that happens
is a tragic death in the arms of a
woman i love

and i can plainly see you’re not up
for that just yet