To Rise

I will rise 
because there is still
life in me

I will rise 
because my will 
is strong

I will rise 
because I must

An Answer. A Truth.

She was crying in the bathroom and there
was nothing I could do. I stood in the hall
and listened. After some time it grew quiet.
I was sitting on the floor with my back against
the door. I felt tired. I felt old. How long
were we destined to do this? How much failure
and heartbreak are we meant to take in one life?
There is an answer to that last question. Tell me
nothing. I don't want to know.

For George

The world can only function

because of people like George

Tonight

he is sitting on a barstool

drunk out of his mind

He's been drinking for

five hours

to get away

from his work

on AC and Heating

His hands are thick

strips of meat

wrapped around bone

He says he's been a

fry cook

plumber

barback

gardener

driver

welder

and still

he struggles

to get by

I offer to buy him

a drink

but

he declines

He's had run-ins

with cops

and car accidents

He's a bit spooked

but needs

this relief

this numbing

to wake

and keep going

keep moving

to survive

in a world

indifferent

at best

Pool

toss your heart into the pool
and cross your fingers

if it is strong
                    it will not sink
it will swim 
                    if it is weak
it will sink

blood red streaks
like dissipating clouds

you watch
and hope it's will 
can carry it through 

What Wing Biddlebaum Knew

I always notice a persons hands.

They are not the most obvious thing,

but they tell far more than the face or eyes.


You cannot hide a lifetime of work

in cragged, sinewy hands that bear

a resemblance to the claws


of some terrible lizard; soft, callous free

hands tell their story just as clearly.

Hands of privilege and work


wear no masks, they are afforded none.

They wear ease and hardship in even strokes.

Be weary of anyone unwilling to shake hands.