Category Archives: impatience


Heart, a tambourine shaking
Stomach clenching on bile,
Cacophony building
Electrically charged
Floating just above skin
Hands fistulas of dread
Tremulous waiting with this
Purposeless parade of
Subliminally sent
Messages hastening
To mindless receivers
Consideration pinched
Awareness simply lost
My weakness is your pleasure

The Paper Route

An almost forgotten employment
For my almost teenage boy
Delivering the news to doorsteps
While others slumber, sip coffee
Get ready for their day of labor
He saw the notice in a well placed
Ad stuffed into our mailbox
Available; three routes,
Twenty-five bonus just to sign-up
His round Dr. Seuss eyes,
Absorbing the countless
Possibilities of purchases
To be made with all that money
The new computer; mine
Only for me, he imagines specifically

Not wanting to squelch excitement
Conjured from a hope that he
Will make his wish into possibility
Fulfilled by his own volition
I secretly ponder the realities
In thoughts that swirl around details
He only contemplates the cash
Like a loony toon character with
Dollar signs that ring up in his eyes
The neighborhood is two miles away
I offer to drive him there
Every day, at five am, except Sunday
When the former paper boy, his dad
Performs this troublesome honor
The day thick with all those ads

After a week or so, his route memorized
Which gradually worked into a month, this child
Who cried the third day in frustration over wind
That sent him skittering to jumble
Those black inky folds neatly back together
While watching from a distance
I reminded myself this was not a something for me
To scurry towards making it all better, but
The invisible pull to save made my viewing
Heart fold in a cringe feeling his fear that
He would fail in this personal quest
To be slightly independent
These spaces of quiet morning time precious
Where every bunny rabbit still gives pause
And every paper delivered a tiny success

They Called Him Buck

My dad, telling the perfect joke
A favorite bartender
He would be amused
So many colored liquors
Lining the back shelf now
His drinks amber, gold and clear
Creme de Menthe and
Sloe Gin the exceptions

My dad, his arm bent like
A wing holding his cigarette
Out the window, steering
With the other, loving his
Buick, Chrysler or Olds
Sales cases not car seats
Keeping him company
Always deep in concentration

My dad, watching television
John Wayne, Creature Feature
Maybe golf, football or fishing
Always calm then, unless
The Packers lost the football
Then he yelled from a dark place
Me quietly leaving, startling
Him to embarrassment

My dad, cooking meals
Perfect steak and burgers
Spaghetti sauce, marinades we
Couldn’t really appreciate then
French toast on lenten Fridays
The never ending crispy soft slices
Butter and syrup sliding in perfect union
With glasses of so cold milk

My dad, trimming the hedge
Arms persistently tanned
Extended outward for hours
In work appearing effortless
Swaying back and forth
Slashing into shape
The perimeter of
His domestic jungle

My dad, temper flaring
Against only himself
Evidence now he lived
In a prison of fear over
Standards of perfection
That couldn’t be met
Left to wonder of the origin
Answers long buried with him

My dad, in remembering
The great and beautiful
Ingredients of him, a recipe
He was given, then gave
My memory’s mixture
Grateful for the good
Now, as a parent, contending
In empathy with the flaws