NaPoWriMo Day 30!: Exercise for TOP

Just a short one today. I'm poemed out!
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My jeans
hang on the clothes line
running in place
squatting,
doing front kicks
and back kicks
to the wind’s
exercise video,

knowing this is the most
exercise they are going to get.

NaPoWriMo Day 29 and 3WW: Opportunity-Service-Quarrel

Just Another Slap in the Face

I got home late
today,
fatigue dripping
from my shoulders
like a backpack
slipping to the floor.

I leave it on a hook
in the closet
along with my jacket,

so happy to forget
about the quarrel
I’d had with my fourth-
block kids.

I’d taken them outside
for Journal Writing,
the weather summer nice.

But several of them
decided to take advantage
of the opportunity
to stay out, enjoy the sun,
after I said it was time
to head back inside.

They tiptoed
into the classroom
late, eyes big,
knowing they were
in trouble,

knowing they’d
let me down,
knowing I’d never trust
them again.

Finally, I was home,
time to relax,
write a poem,
blog,
and check the mail
for a letter.

But what was in there?
A bill from
Public Service of NH.

NaPoWriMo Day 28: Red

He’s been working
on his new motorcycle
in the cellar
for months, now.

This one started
as old Harley parts
that were just begging
to be assembled.

And that’s what
he’s been doing
one puzzle piece
at a time,

sanding and bending
and swearing
and slowly
it began

to look like
a real motorcycle,
a 1952 panhead.
A couple days ago

I asked him
to help me
fix my Xyron
sticker machine.

He examined it,
got a perplexed look
on his face,
said he was sorry,

and gave it back to me.
Then he went outside,
got his tools out and adjusted

the points on his bike.

NaPoWriMo Day 27: Wordle (Piggybank)

The piggybank of our life
is full of coins:

the copper pennies
of everyday business,

the chunky nickels
of laughter,

the thin dimes
of fights,
pursed lips,
resisting
being picked up,

the quarters of compliments
and kindnesses and love

and the occasional
fifty-cent pieces
of vacations.

Each night
before bed
we empty our pockets
and slide
the loose change
into the piggybank
watching our marriage
fill up.

NaPoWriMo Day 26: Word for One Single Impression

No

It’s a razor blade
cutting slashes
in an arm,

the sun pulling
a quilt of clouds
up over her head.

It’s a husband
turning away
in bed,

a mother
getting drunk
every night,

the silent scream
from a girl
being raped.

NaPoWriMo Day 25: Follow for Sunday Scribblings

As a recovering addict
I have to be careful
during vacations
not to have the TV
on channel 6
at 1pm

because that is when
Days of our Livescomes on and I don’t
want to get hooked
again.

It started in college.
I’d get back from class
and it was nice
to sit in the TV room
with friends
and watch the happenings
in Salem.

As a newlywed,
I brought the characters
with me as I started
this new life,
hoping never
to repeat their
mistakes.

Once the kids
started school,
we’d get home
in the afternoon
and sit together.
Erin and Nathan took
turns getting up
to fast forward
through the commercials
in those pre-remote
VCR days.

We always got excited
when a young Carrie
was on because
I’d try to imitate
her hair-do
on Erin the next
day.

Even after they graduated
I continued to watch.
It was like a big, fat
juicy novel
and I’d turn to a new
chapter every day.

Two years ago
I went cold turkey;
I just couldn’t take
any more of that
sappiness.

Oh, sure, my heart
does a little flip-flop
whenever I see their faces
on Soap Opera Digest
at the grocery store

and the occasional
commercial for it
pulls me in from
the next room

but, so far,
knock on wood,
I haven’t watched
a single episode.
Today is Saturday
after a week of being home
and I didn’t fall
off the wagon
even once.

Sometimes, it feels
like I’ve divorced
part of my family
but, most of the time,
I’m happy to be
free of cliff-hangers
and stupid decisions
and titillating sexual
tension

and kids who grow up
from babies to teenagers
in five years
and I just couldn’t take
another Christmas
watching the Hortons
hang ornaments
with their names
on them
on that perfect tree.

NaPoWriMo Day 24: Listen

I wrote this at the Unity Street Park
overlooking the river.
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The Androscoggin River
in high spring exuberance
laughing and gurgling
and schussing
drowns out the cars
going by like toys,
and the jet
unzipping the blue
sweater of the sky,
and the humming
of the leaf buds
fat and bursting,
and the dying groans
of goldenrod
skeletons.

The world is a pantomime,
my ears full of raging water.