Just Add Water

Some days I get lucky
Like today it was raining and I had pancake mix
which as you know is a powerful combination
especially on an early winter morning,
without somewhere else to be,
with the sky grey and swirling,
and butter in the pan.

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Ode to a Banana Taped to a Wall

I think that I shall never scan a
Painting, worth half a banana.

A yellow fruit that grows from ground,
And by the hand of time, is browned;

Belov’d by human, rat, and ape,
Affixed to wall by sellotape;

High on wall, yet low in calorie,
Easy peel, yet posh art gallery;

A fruit who doesn’t put on airs,
while housed above the crystal stairs;

Painters and poets chase rare arcana,
But who, on earth, can explain the banana.

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The Cleaver

I would love, my dear, a happy ending – though maybe it is not
forty years from now, in the hospital wing,
after the intubations, and before the forms are signed.
An author, after all, takes a cleaver to the whole of time,
and fashions an edge that glitters with real happiness.
And so tonight, let’s raise the good glasses,
snuggle under the covers, and we’ll let the author
put the ending where She will.

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Gilbert

My anxiety has a friend, named Gilbert.
Gilbert is a good friend.
Whenever my anxiety is stressed about something that he –
my anxiety – cannot handle,
right now, anyway,
Gilbert takes it on for himself. 
It doesn’t matter if it’s large or small.
Gilbert’s got it.
That’s not to say Gilbert will always manage to solve
everything right away, or anything like that.
That’s an awful lot to ask of Gilbert.
Still, what a friend!
My anxiety can rest assured
that Gilbert will step in
and do his very best.

My anxiety can’t leave *everything* to Gilbert.
Just this morning, my anxiety was asking whether
my trash cans might have
rolled out into the street,
and my anxiety and I thought,
“well, ol’ Gilbert’s got it”,
but then we thought better about it
and took to the window.
Turns out the trash cans were fine.
We don’t know if it was Gilbert.

I do know Gilbert can be relied upon,
as per the terms and conditions listed above,
for any problem under the sun.
Some would say, Gilbert is pretty bad at self-care!
And that’s fair.
He’s just that friend
that is always trying to help
to the very best of his abilities
whether he’s the person of the job
or just the wrong person in the right-enough place.
We love Gilbert for that.

You may be asking
whether Gilbert is imaginary, or even
whether Gilbert is God.
Don’t worry, it’s ok to ask!
My anxiety and I discuss things like that all the time.
Sometimes we even whisper –
and I know this is a bit mind-boggling –
that Gilbert could be you!

All I know is
I’m glad I have two friends, or three:
a friend like my anxiety,
a friend like you,
and a friend like Gilbert.

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The Body

I attend to the sickness in the body.
I read the news.
I notice the traffic, and sit in it.
I feel warm on a feverish November day.

I attend to the sickness in the body.
Its myoclonic jerks, its paroxysms.
The body is attempting to reject
something that is a part of itself.

I attend to the sickness in the body.
The fire in my gut is natural.
The slowness in my step is natural.
My hyperopia is natural.

None of these may be healthy.
But the body is a marvel,
Capable of dissolution,
Regenerative, in breakdown,
to the body beyond the body,
Built for so much more
Than mere health.

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My Usher

Mystery is my usher,
I will never miss the show.

She sits me down in the good seats,
She waits quietly until intermission.

She restores my soul: she leads me from one act to the next,
in a plot much larger and grander
than anything I can conceive.

Yea, even as I glimpse the closing of my own little scene,
I will fear no evil,
for thou art with me,
thy scraps of program, and thy trusty flashlight
bring me comfort.

Thou preparest a bounty before me,
with my enemies sitting on either side,
you pull aside the curtain,
and fill me with wonder and joy,
until there is more than I can hold.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,
and I will be a part of the show for ever.

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Dance to the Good Songs

not wiser, despite what they say
not smarter as such
not more grounded
or more successful
or wiser
or improved memory
and as for stronger
and healthier
well
hah
but
as I get older
I will say
I get a little more determined
to dance to the good songs
about which
I mean
if that’s not an improvement
then I don’t know –
oh, won’t you excuse me
something’s just come on

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The Houseguest

Winter evening, I was not expecting you here so early.
No, don’t be embarrassed –
let’s neither of us be embarrassed –
and any slight shade of pink, let’s count as beauty.
Others may be coming. But now you’re here,
let’s fill fine China platters with the best scraps of the cupboard
and call it a night.

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Ode to Coffee

You can make the most of it in the morning:
A perfectly manageable addiction.
A boat, from night’s rough waters, an awning
From crimes, hopes, dreams, fears, and all conviction.
First, sift water through proven grounds of earth,
then, gather the blackness in a cup of strength.
Sip this slowly – ‘twill bring warmth, calm, rebirth,
Freedom from taxation, and a longer length
Of days. Of course, repeat as necessary.
If you must, add parts of cow, or juice of nut.
I’ll not slight thee. But please, my dear, be wary
Of any claims to elevate thy gut:
Quacks, with big bills, will brag of their solution,
Better, and cheaper, Kaldi’s own caducean.

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The Fabric

Before I left my Ireland,
I folded the hills, and my mates, and the songs we shared,
into a green pocket square
that I carried with me
for all the crossing.

And today my great-great grandchildren – who I confess,
rarely, if ever, crossed the threshold of my mind,
are laying a teapot down, at a gathering.

Most of the stories never reached them,
but there is the fabric –
and what little do we know of each other, really,
except that which we know by hand,
every fabric carrying ships
across the ocean

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