Eating Taco Salad (loosely based on Cohen's Famous Blue Raincoat)

its 2 in the morning
the middle of july
i'm writing you now
just to pretend to ask why

i'm eating my taco, spreading
the lettuce, wanting to say
that i know why you let us
drift on
to that place
in the nether
you're living for everyting now
i hope you're keeping some kind
of journal

and she came by with a smile
and a bod, you all balding and fat,
still enough to attract

send her my regards

Ha ha

Trying to go to bed

She throws a pad away in the bathroom
garbage and forgets to close the door.
I only know this when I pull the sheets
back to go to bed. The dog has dragged
her pain into my life, once again.

Banish dog to crate. Self-talk about what needs
to be said. Make an effort at 1 a.m. to lie
down. Question tomorrow: (which is today):
train new coworker, enter data, empower
client, empower family, wait for son to return
from concert, think about last night's dreams.

Who lies down easily? Who sleeps through the
night? How and what.

My ankle turns easily to the right as I think.

Mourning Dove


Mourning Dove Plumage

Yesterday morning

I woke up remembering a kiss. Remembering
what it felt like to lose yourself in a kiss. Remembering
how just that one kiss changed my entire life.

A few days ago, a mourning dove was standing
in the middle of 41 A. Birds do that sometimes. Birds
other than scavengers. She was standing there, slowly
walking in that herky-jerky way birds walk, to the
southern shoulder of the road. I thought she would
just fly over me, but she flew right into the grill of my
car. Feathers rained over me for a few miles. I drove
to Kroger but refused to look at the front of my car.

Then I drove to the liquor store where this most
beautiful young man works. He reminds me of a
young Bob Dylan. The hair, the nose (though his is
a much nicer nose than Dylan's and his hair is light
brown). He's taller though. He's gentle and seems
somewhat delicate, he laughs easily, he listens intently,
he appears to be genuinely interested in what I have
to say. He asks me questions about how to cook
certain dishes, what music I listen to, who I like to
read. He tells me he's grilling portabellas and wants
to know what wine would go well with that. He tells
me he and his girl go kayaking. He has this bemused
look at times. His arms are muscular, his body lean.
He is one of the few people I look forward to seeing
every week, though he's soon to be gone. Almost
out of school. On to bigger things. I don't even
know his name.

The young man at the liquor store walked out with me
and pulled the bird's nearly intact body from the grill. He
then reached in with his fingers and removed bloody
bird parts. The whole scene made me love him more,
this young man. If I was twenty five years younger
and single, I'd most likely have kissed him that way.
The way that kiss was so many years ago. That kiss.
Yes. The one which changes everything. Never been
kissed like that since. Though I have kissed through
many years of my life.

I felt old and sad and confused when she flew into the grill.
I think she killed herself. Maybe her partner had been killed.
Maybe she was sick and needed to be released. Maybe I am
to feel blessed that she chose me, and that I, in turn, chose him
to touch her still nearly perfect body.

I wonder some days if I shall ever be able to feel passion
the way I once did. I wonder some days if it wasn't to my
advantage to live with mania. It drove me. It kept me
on the edge. It kept me wondering. I am just simply tired
all of the time now. Not much room for passion. Real
life is intense but devoid of passion.

Had to hospitalize A. Mother-in-law broke her arm and
was hospitalized for 5 days. Trying to help her out, too.
A. was discharged Monday, so I brought her home after
I got off work. She's gone for the weekend, and I hoped
that would help her and help me, but there was to be no
R&R for me. J. calls telling me that A. calls her telling her
things which are red flags for J. I lost it. I said Why don't
you call L. and ask her what the hell is up? Intense. The
intensity is sucking the life outta me.

It's been raining throughout the night and morning.
Not raining now. Perfect weather for weeding. I need
to weed. I need weed. Weeds. I need to feel them
reluctantly untether themselves from the earth as I pull
them out. I need to feel their resilience.

Sometimes I get this idea that each time I pull a weed,
it laughs. It knows. I can come out year after year after
year and pull away, but I'm never going to win. There is
something in that losing which is healing and uplifting
to me.