Apartment, Sunday Morning

How good it feels to wake up

this Saturday morning and not go

to the garage, put on the old shoes, 

wheel the mower over the gravel

and pavers on the side of the house

and mow the backyard lawn. How good

to not wonder about the moss patch

in the grass, to not have to think about

driving to Home Depot for whatever

chemical kills moss but not grass

or people. How good to not kill moss

at all, because it is beautiful. 

How good it is today, to not have

a lawn, a mower, a house, a car. 

To be sitting in my favorite chair,

the one by the window, drinking coffee, 

and reading Whitman, my life empty

of anything extra.


You not playing Hockey

You dreamed you were

trying out for hockey

which is strange because

you never played and you

don't want to. All you want

to do is sit around and read.

A woman came up to you

every few minutes to let

you know how long before

you had to go onto the ice.

You worried about skating backwards

and missing the puck but mostly

how you'd balance. 

It's hard to balance. 

Just before you had

to go out on the ice

you realized no

you didn't and woke up.

Who gave you such power?

And what will you do now

if not play hockey?