CLASS HEXACTINELLIDA

After 2 weeks

on the beach in

the salt air and sun,

my return to work

wasn’t easy.

The fluorescent lights

made my eyes water;

the pounding of computer

printers and

photocopy machines

made my head ache.

I had to close

the door, closing my world

in even smaller.

I wished I was back

in college again

listening seriously this

time to Dr. Brenowitz

preach about the pleasures

of being a marine biologist,

going to sea for weeks

collecting

phytoplankton and zooplankton

and rare specimens of the

Class Hexactinellida.

(the ocean crested and

lapped at me more now that

it was far away,

so far far away.)

***

this whispering morning settles
about this appled house
to start the process
of another sleepy Sunday

These coffeed comforting thoughts
melt midnight’s minutes into memory,
they have no power here
at this august desk
with my laughing pencil
in this dust filled room smelling of paper.
Pushing February back with words
hurling his icy breath elsewhere.
My boy plays outside
kicking dead sticks in tennis shoes
My wife,
humming softly a tune I do not know
forks happy dirt into flower pots.
My boy laughs
my wife sings
My pencil slides
an easy passion
on an easy Sunday
***

oh hell
I stuck a pencil through my tongue
and, looking in the mirror
noticed nothing useful was written

***

the sun was bright last night.
The moon ran scared in the streets.
“Don’t shoot.” he cried.
“I won’t.” I cried
emptying my forty five in his direction.

***

use time slowly
counting each second twice
only fools are in a hurry

***