Some Things Like the Seasons.

I went to your house the other day.
It was unseasonably warm for February.
You and I would've discussed this,
sat outside perhaps, considered
the effect on springtime planting.

A train roared west into downtown,
briefly drowning out the neighbor's dogs
who snarled as if they'd tear my throat.
I showed them one finger, then went
about picking winter trash from your lawn.

After the old place sells, I imagine
I'll still come back to close my eyes
and hear the trains from this angle,
to pretend that some things never change 

except the seasons.

Coming Soon: Small Print Run "Broad Street" Three Stories

Haiku Written at a Railroad Crossing.

Twenty-three tankers

and a boxcar. I haven't

seen you since July.

Lots

All these vacant lots,

hardly anyone around

who will remember.

Good News, Bad News, he said.

Dave came in this morning

to tell me he heard my name

on the news, so he turned.

I was dead or 

had killed somebody.

He couldn't remember, but

I should look into it to see

what I've been up to.

As it stands, I'm not

answering my phone today.

I'm not sure

what's going on

except

I seem to have some

explaining to do.

Christmas in Absurdity.

Christmas Eve

came as a false spring

with sunshine and 59 degrees.

Last night

we walked around in sweatshirts

looking at lights.

This morning over coffee,

among the other tales of sports

and murder, I read that

one in three Ohioans

are now eligible for assistance

from state food banks.

Without irony,

the governor allocated $500,000

federal money to feed them.

Local press called him

Santa Claus, oblivious that the gov's policies

helped create this poverty.

An old man who delivers

hunger to little children,

inadequately remedies the issue,

and is praised for his efforts

is befitting a Christmas Eve

30 degrees warmer than normal.

Last Time.

I'd been working in the fall chill

clipping dead flowers from the yard

when I decided on a short ride

through our neighborhood,

grabbed a skateboard

from the basement,

and went.

Immediately,

in the physicality

of balance and velocity,

hum of wheels on pavement

like waves on a beach,

I headed west

as a burning sunset

dove into the woods

at East Rec,

gone, just as I

used to do 

in this same

oak forest

20 years ago,

just as I

may never

do again.