Category Archives: Difficult people

The Wealthy Thief

Front page of the newspaper
There it was, bold, embarrassing
Born into a world of everything,
Wealthy, had to take more, for what

Donated countless dollars to charities
The name always there at the top
Now just the thief in the family that
Had been revered for hard work

This man, arrogant in his meanness
Every other Monday placing a plate
Before him, simply waitstaff, a nobody
He could not be kind if it was not seen

I read the article which talks of millions
Why would he, with all that, need more
People wonder who live on so much less
Like me who cringed setting down the plate

Not gleeful or sad at his self directed demise
He is what he always was, simply a man
With too much money in the bank and
No investment made in his heart

The Drive to Work

On the highway that climbs then turns
In the spot where there is a smattering
Of flowered covered crosses marking
Anonymous undisclosed losses as we
Daily streak past, reminders it can all
End now, today, tomorrow our life
Becoming a tilted marker anchoring
Plastic flowers, faded photos, messages
She was loved and will be greatly missed

The eighteen wheeler barrels past
Seemingly seconds behind a pick up
Truck who mistakenly believes the left lane
Is for those who follow the rules, follow
The limits of the designated speed on this
Curve, this stretch of highway where
Strangers die, where we remind ourselves
This is the spot where everyone is killed
Where that pick-up is pressing its luck

The truck must see the semi daring it to
Get going, go faster, move aside, it must feel
All those wheels inching precariously close
Suspended in time those gaudy crosses
Hopeful warnings that life can move too fast
The pressure to get out of the way lost on that
Pick-up truck with a driver who someone loves
Whose plans wait at the end of the road, not at the
Side, only to be an accusation from the dead


Demanding incredulousness
When there is no warranty
Placing blame your heart’s aim
Rewarding yourself through
Humiliation of the likely
The survey constant
Flaws, errors, mistakes
Your skillful attention once
Admirable, now sits hard
On my lap needing to be
Picked up and tossed
A clawing cat hissing
In spiteful departure
No attachment no love
Simply landing without pause
Off in search of new prey

Like Giving Birth

The words emphatic
In a voice heavy on nasal,
My work has been
Like giving birth to a baby
Followed by a pompous
Overconfident chuckle
A college professor
Of political science
Theatre arts, or was it
Physical education
His incessant droning
Resulting in my choked
Back yawns of exhausted
Disregard until his attempt
At a simile of equality
Rouses me to attention
His curdled sensibility
His perversity of belief
That lack of anatomy
Makes his comparison
Tripe and nonsense
Is my first thought
Quickly followed by
Why is the most
Incomparable living
Physical event
This miracle of creation
Used to attest
To so many efforts
Mundane, average
That anyone would
Reproduce with him
At last the only question

Working Mom Visits Her Best Friend

traveling back to who
and when I was loved by
people who know me as me
not the person responding
to your rants and raves
so many of you, yelling,
demanding something be done
about what you need, now

emergencies of ego
born of desperate promises
abandoned in a heap at my door
a plump screaming baby
whose real mother grew
weary of holding, coddling,
and soothing all the unremitting
finger jabs for attention

Yet, determined by a cord
wrapped in a hope filled future
my own babies wait
wanting the mom they
once knew, calm, loving
attentive to needs
their lovely bow of forgiveness
hiding my broken promises