Lou and Marie,

dropped in unexpected,

fine enough folk

despite the defection–

and pouring a coke

to go with selection–

of Versailles-tile cakes

(the Twinkie confection)

I found no utensils that suited a Queen

. . .

So split cake in thirds

with small guillotine…

so this is how it is

. . .

you go for a walk

–a run, if you can–

and

the Fed-ex truck drives by

and you go to wave automatic-like

mouth turning up at the edges, already,

then you remember Leo don’t

drive it no more

–energy pushing outward unmet–

Leo died

from the Cancer

a few months back, and so young, too

–not that young, twelve years older or so–

and your hand drops

–unexpressed–

and it’s a little thing, really, but it’s a thing, all right,

a minus where there used to be a plus.

then the mail guy comes

but it ain’t Big John driving USPS snail or shine

–smart John, too–

for all his wooly whiskers

and gin blossom cheeks

Big John could talk circles around

the Literature,

–sweet John–

but Big John died, too, or maybe he retired, but Big John ain’t

the mail person no more

–and who cares? it’s just mail, but you do a little–

(a lot)

and it adds to the thing that subtracts.

and you go to the café for some coffee

–for company–

the café that hangs all the pictures of the locals

on the walls,

and all your friends, too

but they don’t do that anymore, neither,

–the friends you had MIA–

the spot where

your picture hung

is empty, now

–and maybe you are, too, a little–

a faded square of wallpaper the only

reminder

this used to be

your place.

imaginary friends

of childhood

–audience, scapegoat, and confidant–

morph. . .

don bullet-proof vests,

posture and swagger,

and capes & mask, too

(without phone booth, or even a nearby Verizon store)

on salad days

(the first order, anyway)

and disrobe

into invisibility

(perceptible to reflections only, and completely un-vampire like)

in mid-age,

as Zeitgeists don’t wear sheets

and come every day lately,

(surprise besties, and hard to pin down)

We visit,

these geists and I,

(butterfly-shaped dust motes subject to atmosphere)

as I smooth

cowl neck sweaters

in every size imaginable

–life falling away

in time-worn bits–

(that’s only fitting)

since drop-in visitors

are proven to be so predictably unexpected.

at day’s end, I

ablute

–like any good girl, I

remove,

rinsing my eyes

with glue

>a staple<

to fix the tearing problem I’ve developed, I

wipe away.

washing mud, smoke, and stars from them

with full-grown oil,

cracking kaleidoscope lens,

I replace.

brushing my tongue with soap

lye soap

to tone down the acid situation there

that’s a step away from vulgarity, a chronic condition your dentist can’t fix

linguist either

I garble.

gargling and flossing with candy

that helps, I

release the bunnies.

combing through

my do

(and don’t)

loosening

moose, rats, hare, and beehive

and any any

number of small would-land creatures, I

catch.

when they do land

business end up, wouldn’t you know it,

right near my snarled ends…

she had a Bluetooth smile

& Apples

in her cheeks–

eyes lensed in photographic memory

& mother-boarding hips,

& we shared so many common programs, besides.

. . .

It seemed like a meme.

we handheld for a time. . .

in those days of chips & Dosses

. . .

ah, Y. . .

the orientation was landscape, &

a macro upgrade seemed certain

a little Log-on cabin in the Webs

with a white picket Firewall,

Sensible thumb drive &

maybe a few apps…

but I pushed the wrong buttons

(too much auto-correct!)

and she dumped me,

and sure

I space-barred around a while,

but for the sake of inner PC, I eventually powered down.

Dawn is

a jokester

always cracking up–

noon–

who’s so high

and doesn’t get the joke

‘til after–

night falls, clumsy in the dark

rooms

–the loo–

it’s a problem!

in witch hours?

the wee. . .

listen my children

of a lesser

god in heaven’s

name what is your goal

posts can only take you so far

& away with social media blitz

krieg is just war

after all

. . .

in good time

of your life

lessons are hard

won is extra

credit to those inclined to listen

up

the ante

. . .

up in the manner of quality

–cntrl alt delete

–cntrl alt delete…