He

A child in a man's body
Sleek and sophisticated in a city-dweller's costume
(High black boots, dark skinny jeans, black thermal shirt,
Black hoodie, an old and worn black leather jacket, and
Soft grey scarf piled around his neck)
He walks with ease confidence, his step light and carefree
He's combed back his black hair carefully, with a comb
And water, but a lick of it caresses his forehead like
A mother's hand.
His eyelashes nearly hide his eyes behind a gossamer curtain,
The envy of any girl.
To look at you was to enfold you
In the depths of his warm, giddy brown eyes, the color of
Summer mud, and
He wears a perpetual tan, a gift from his Italian, Hawaiian,
And Navajo ancestors, and it is sweet to the eye,
Like a taste of coffee with just enough cream and sugar.
When he laughs, the hardest of hearts break down into
Happy tears, poets scramble for a bit of paper and a pen, and
Birds hush in the beauty of this most glorious of sounds,
Too low and sweet and childlike for their throats to mimic.

Omen

you pause as the trumpets die for a moment and you stare
your glittering blue magical beautiful chilling thrilling eyes
locked not only on millions of others who watched you for
the first time years before i was born but mine too yes me
seventeen years after you're gone twenty-one since you sang
that song that still gives me shivers down my spine and brings
hot tears to my eyes because i love you so much it hurts sometimes
and i can't even find the words to express it because i wasn't actually
there when you called thousands of people to arms competing with the
rat-a-tat-tat of the drums your jaw set your face determined and your soul
connecting with a soul you'll never meet never see never even breathe the
same air with but you will forever change in a way you can't possibly imagine
just twenty-nine years into the future.

Herbie Husker

You were
the first person
to come in all day
and treat me like
a human being.

I wondered after
you left
what made you so
happy, so happy
you glowed with it.

I must admit
I found you quite
Amusing, dressed
like a boy in his father's clothes;
Blue jeans, periwinkle blue
button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up;
and a bright red tie, loose at the neck, printed
with little pictures
Of Herbie Husker (because who can be proud of Lil Red?)

You laughed while you ordered
almost $40 worth of greasy food
And you bounced on your heels
Waiting for me to hand you
the THREE bulging sacks.

Then you grinned, face ruddy
And young. You laughed at
What I saw as nothing, and were off,
Off to spread your contagious joy
To someone as lucky as I was.

Dance, Dance

Now the hip!
boomboom
And look, your feet are dancing too!
clickclick
It's funny how he stays with you
uhhuh, uhhuh
Even after the suits are back on their
hangers.

A cheeky grin
watch this, y'all
As your body twists
yeahyeah
And jives and your feet glide
betcha can't do THIS
As if it's become second nature
yeah baby
Instead just something you do for
a paycheck.

Operation

Operation:
Keep Your Head Up
took longer than I planned.

Operation:
Don't Give Your Heart Away
failed miserably too, but
my mother says I've yet to
meet my man.

Operation:
Forgive Her
took way too long,
but I'm there now.

Operation:
Live the Good Life
is well underway, and I
intend to keep to on sailin' my
ship, no matter how hard I have
to row.

Time Warp

Rocky Horror Picture Show
is in the theatre again.
Do you remember last Halloween?
We were set to go, all geared up
to experience the raunchy hilarity
Firsthand.

Then I said no.
And you were angry.
We said some things,
Then some worse things,
And then you hugged me.

I didn't hug back.
So instead you stabbed.
You stabbed and you stabbed
And you stabbed, and for a while
I bled, until
Life brought along
Bandaids
And I forgot about the scabs.

Rocky Horror Picture Show
is in the theatre again, and
I can't help but wonder
If you'll take someone else.

The Tube

BeepBeepBeep. Bzzzzzzz. THUDTHUDTHUDTHUDTHUDTHUD. Beeeeeeeeeeeep.

It’s like the diagnosis has already been given: boom, you’re dead, meet your new coffin. Couldn’t afford a nice pine, so we had this plastic one rigged up especially for you, with all the bells and whistles (literally).  Thought you knew heaven? Well this ain’t hell, baby, but you’ll be hearing these sirens (Ma, it’s a twister!) and heavy bass thump-thumps for all eternity so hang on tight.

The worst part is, they give you headphones to put on your head, with filtered in radio, so all the while it sounds like Armageddon out there, in here it’s Eagles and Cher and horses with no names. That kind of music sort of loses something when you get a headache from all the high-pitched screaming that all but completely drowns out the Beach Boys (not that that’s a bad thing).  

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       Tumor. It’s the word thought but never spoken. You try to think of anything else, of your upcoming seventeenth birthday, and the cake (Rango this year, last three cakes were Spiderman), but you can’t, because there’s a stupid little voice in your head whispering “Tumor. Cancer. You’re dead.” It doesn’t matter that your mom’s out there (she thought it might be MS) holding the tips of your fingers as tight as she can, because that’s all she can reach. It doesn’t matter if you got to hear a reassuring voice on the phone just a few days before telling you it was gonna be okay, that they’re praying for you. That they love you. It doesn’t matter, because you’re scared out of your mind that the little voice is right.

You cry as soon as the nurse says Needle. It’s not just a shot, it WON’T be over in a second, because this one STAYS in your arm, held in place by a piece of plastic which, by the way, eventually slips into your vein and dissolves. But only after they pump blue dye into you so they can see if there’s something in your brain that shouldn’t be there. After that, not only are you laying there thinking, “Oh my God, she’s sticking me and I can’t MOVE!” (can’t fight), now there’s the realization that somewhere inside of your vibrating, aching, screaming head, your brain is turning blue.

 And now you can feel it: the needle, the plastic tube in your arm, the nurse tying the tourniquet (ouch) so they can find the right vein, and her fingers pushing hard on the crook of your elbow. You can’t move away this time, you can’t fight the injection. Can’t move anywhere, ‘cause there’s thick hospital plastic one inch to your right, to your left, maybe six inches above your nose, and the plastic sheeting under you is vibrating, stirring the blood.

Then it starts again. Bzzzzzzzz. BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP. Some of it sounds like the old dialup Internet, the mechanical hee-hawing and computer purring AOL used to make you wait through before you could find out if you had any mail. But it’s louder, it’s like you’re INSIDE of the computer, and the modem is hooked up to your head. Every once in a while, they ask you how you’re doin’.

“Well doc, I’m half-blind, strapped to a table, shoved in a tube, I got a freakin’ HUGE needle stuck in me, my face is all sticky ‘cause I haven’t stopped crying yet, and this is the third Frankie Valli song I’ve heard since I’ve gotten here. So tell me, is it cancer?”

********