Good-bye

Can I help you pack?
Your t-shirt of tears tucks tightly inside
This suitcase I store under my bed,
Like the princess and her pestering pea
I covet sleep.

Can I fix you a snack?
Your hunger for pity is all that I feed
From my fridge of frailty and fluffernutter
Sandwiches, a belly ache ensues and
I crave digestion.

Can I give you a ride?
Your taxi to Forgotten still hasn't arrived
At my screen door, a locked yet limpid place,
Like mom watching me get onto the bus
I crave freedom.

Can we say good-bye?
To the night he shoved me past the fridge, past the door,
On my bed, on his way to being a boy
With a wooden nose and donkey ears
He said he heard nothing.

Can I just be here?
Without your swords and your shields, without our memory of hate
In my house I've rebuilt since he left me with you.
I'm home alone for the very first time
and I'll be okay.

Angry with Both of Us

I know that look:
Desire cloaked in affection.
You market "a connection"
You say is worthy of erection,
Of my love for you,
An unforgivable mistake.
'Cause all my aspirations I want you to take
And my solitude's sincerity I cannot shake.
The woman you live with
(the woman you love)
She's smart, hard-working, funny and cute.
You're beyond complacent but that point is moot;
At the turn of the day she irons your suit.

I retire alone,
You retire unsure,
A stark difference we both try to blur.
My friends are right, this love isn't pure.
Like I want to possess,
Like I think I deserve,
More than giving you me because I haven't the nerve,
To say to you, a glorified perve:
You're married. Fucking act it.

Scribbles: The Leamington Dock

The Dock in Leamington, Ontario is moody. Poking out into Lake Erie, the wood is nearly black with grime that growls or glistens, depending on cloud or sun. The lake swirls below The Dock on the calmest of days, and churns a frightening brown whirlpool on the worst. The sand crawls from the water in a mix of shells, seaweed and Styrofoam cups, but is warm between noon and two during July. Dad found a dead body there once; he stayed for the police report but not the news cameras. Recently, Leamington re-did The Dock: re-paved the road that leads to the pier, re-painted the railings that protect you from certain death, and re-decorated the restaurant that sits in the middle of The Dock. It looks almost classy now, but in my mind, The Dock is still moody.