THE RADIO

I drive along
All four windows down
Listening to the radio

He reaches for the dial
As he always does
When he grows bored
With the melody

I,
Denying him this
Return it

An upbeat timpo -
I accerate slightly
In accompaniment

He again changes stations;
A long-ago favorite song
Grown montonous

In annoyance
I turn off the sound
He returns it -
Louder

He is teasing
But I am too tired

Cars stream by;
I refuse to notice
I want to be somewhere else,
Anywhere else

With him
Or without him
I don't know

We sit in the silence
Of the droning radio
And let these feelings pass
Unmentioned

*************************

HE DIED

So young
So beautiful
Lying so still

I never noticed before
How long his lashes were

I reach
As if to shake
Knowing
Death does not wake

I do not wear black
It is my every day color
I wear pale blue
To match the sky's hue
I see many cry
For the first time

Absent
Is his best friend
Who loved him too much
To attend

Weeks later
We meet
And I take him
To the grave
Still bare of stone
But I remember
He lies under the black tree

We are not friends
We are strangers
He is our bond
Not that he lived
But that he's gone

He reaches to touch me
I do not disappear
There is no meaning
But that we're here

On a fresh grave
Together in grief
A moment so brief

And in our existence
He lived

*************************

IN BLACK AND WHITE

When I was a young girl
I thought the boys who
Put paste in my hair,
Cheated at recess games,
Crowded in the lunch line,
Would miraculously
Turn into men
And wear suits
And hats
To the office
Like the men
In black and white movies

And all they seem to be...
Are older boys
With wives and children
Who look nothing like the fathers
Who wear suits
And hats
In black and white movies

And I do not lunch
With the ladies at the club
Who wear furs
And hats with feathers
Like the women
In black and white movies

And I am not
The cool woman
With smoky glances
Who makes witty remarks
At dinner parties -
Drinking wine
As if it tastes good

*************************

TIED WITH A BOW

Our time is not borrowed
We have stolen it
From your wife and child

Your calls come from the office
And the corner market -
Where she sends you for
Milk and diapers

So many nights
I sit home
Waiting for your call
Or your knock

But I cannot mourn
My lost life
For I have given it to you
Wrapped,
And tied with a bow

*************************

THE OLD WOMAN

The old woman
On a fixed income
Who has been beaten
Black and blue
Continues to give
A hand-out
To the hand
That beats her
Believing she must
Continue to give live
To the child
She gave life
Over thirty years ago

*************************

COMING TO MY SENSES There are times when I remove the restraints of Adulthood And enjoy the simple pleasures Of yesterday Chewing six pieces of gum at once - Blowing monster bubbles that stick To my nose Running through a puddle in the rain; The wonderful feeling of mud squishing Between my toes Sneaking a rose from a neighbor's garden - It's scent all the more beautiful for being Forbidden Pla ying hooky from life Spending the day watching cartoons, Bundled in a blanket - Still in my night clothes And savoring the taste of a Rainbow sherbert-chocolate chip-pistachio Three scoop ice cream cone - Lick by lick