“The Minutes”

Photo Credit: Josh Seman, Creative Commons
Photo Credit: Josh Seman, Creative Commons


the bottom

of a jug of milk, glazed

in dried film and the stains

of white that look

and therefore smell

of sour rot

and rancid age.


the final swallow

of gasoline that strands you

in paradise, a perfect day

for a walk outside

along the bay

with your dog

and your wife

and your kids,

the same day

clouds and cold rain soak

your vest and your hands,

stuffed in denim

pockets while you stroll

the vacancy

of miles of crosswalks.


a band-aid, peeled away

after a burn

that sears and stings

like your 4 year-old

fingers touching the racks (when mom taught you

how to use an oven mitt) and it lingers

like a bruise or a scar

so you hurry

to cover it up

with long sleeves.


an hour glass of sand, counting

the hours left

of hope gifted

by those who no longer need


(actually) a

marriage ceremony,

a matrimony,

between a man and a

remote control

, they find one another

in the warm dark, be

-neath covers

and pillows and cushions, until


do they part, or

just death –


a ski mask, weathered and torn

to expose your face to the chill of February


a pen, emptied of its ink

a chair that surprises you

with a wet seat

a cup of coffee ignored and too cold to drink

a chocolate bar stuffed with fat

and shit, but you knew that


a book written by a mass murderer

a bra two cups too big

a needle, a t-shirt, a glove

the bottom


and the top,

the drip of warm milk

and the dreams

you brought with you


Comment Below!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

Plays, Poetry, and Commentary

%d bloggers like this: