For Jerseygal
Garbled words spoken, throat catching
On misspoken promises, the cracks
Splitting depths of belief into memory’s keep
Valued treasure well hidden in a soul
Awaiting discovery under starfish, the corral
Fragile in its protection withstanding
A stranger’s words of unkindness
Exhausted by an onslaught, the unknown
Sources which cannot be quieted as
Wave after wave their chorus plays
In a mind untrained to appreciate its own
Solo, whispering a prayer to the sea
Enter boldly the big room
Round tables of eight
One, just a single, no group
Nonchalantly searching
For a spot to discretely
Unnoticeably slide
Into a chair that appears
Unsaved by someone’s
Colleague, maybe their
Friend, who is running
Late and there will be
No hand that flattens
Onto the seat of this
Uncomfortable chair
While the voice indicates
This is taken, eye
Contact avoided by
Me, but she will mean
business and will pierce
My sideways gaze in
Protection of the spot
She has reserved for
Someone whose eyes
She knows by heart
Mediocrity unstoppably thus
Sliding through this life desperate for more
Anticipating discovery that
Has not, will not come
Someday’s promise has left without farewell
Its vacancy a silent earthquaking
Destabilizing a soul’s wish for more
Than comme si comme ca
Blinking good morning to another day
Thought’s purpose anchored in last night’s dream
Belief created in spirit’s whimsy
Gives hope’s effort life
It is easier to hear No
Than nothing at all
An answer into which
Teeth can sink down
Clenching tight in
Extended duration
Held safely in place
So as not to do
Long term damage
Until disappointment
Can be chewed
Savagely into
Tiny enough bits
That can be
Swallowed gone
Until forgotten
That unpalatable
Response is placed
Where it belongs
And flushed away
But not knowing
Wondering until
Silent rejection
Now assumed
Becomes this
Lonely black hole of
Empty space
Without justification
A nothing to
Contemplate with
No beginning
And no end
Nothing to glance at
After ridding yourself
You can turn
And simply
Walk away
Have you ever been waiting in line behind a guy
You think has a toupee on his head?
And while waiting for a really long time in that line
That doesn’t seem to be moving forward,
You wonder what he looked like with his real hair
It must have been darker, the shade that
Still lingers above his ears, not having abandoned him
Would you start to imagine him adjusting it carefully
Thinking it made him look younger, better
Than if he was partially bald, or shaved it off completely?
Does he take it off, setting it on his nightstand
Or keep it on in case his wife comes to bed feeling amorous?
Does he fret over every windy weather report
Knowing he will have to hold onto it like others do a hat?
It keeps my mind busy, this staring at his artificial hair
And I find myself as you probably would too
Feeling compassion for this total stranger and his whys
That compelled him to cover up what changed
Sometimes so much more than simple recessive genetics
Leading all of us to fix what shouldn’t need to be
It is then, I slowly reach up and touch it lightly with love
Breakfast with Buse 