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Friday

Chunky Chocolate on the radio

Door’s open, come in.

Stolen couch, well, not stolen, re-appropriated

sit.

 

Week’s done, what’s going on?

Oh man, Funk oozes

Hungry.

Grab a tray, grab a bowl, pile it on.

Where’s that at, what time?

Her smile laughs, he sits down

Next to him and her and him

share.

 

Let’s roll; see you there.

We breathe in the night and exhale youthful adventures

Window’s down, volume’s up.

I think I saw you there

You laughed at me.

Take some

Leave some

together.

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Today

Woke up in the mornin’ not ready at all
Doesn’t really matter ’cause it’s not your call
Three little mouths to feed, ready to play
“Wake up Papa, what’re we doin’ today?”

Got 9 scoops in, brewin’ away
Got a million songs, but nothin’ to say
Even with the music on it’s all up hill
Just keep on cookin’, got those stomachs to fill

Papa’s in the yard blowin’, metal to mouth
Water’s drippin’ from a leaky spout
Kids are paintin’, baby’s in the pool
Papa’s wound tight on an empty spool

Breakfast’s done but now Mama’s gotta go
Baby’s cryin’ and tears start to flow
Papa says, “Baby she’ll be back”
Round and round, same old track

But the sun shines down it’s a beautiful day
Papa takes a breath and begins to play
Paint coats the paper, table, and skin
The water’s cool and clear, and baby jumps in

Papa’s in the yard blowin’, metal to mouth
Water’s drippin’ from a leaky spout
Kids are paintin’, baby’s in the pool
Papa’s wound tight on an empty spool

Time to lift that weight, gotta stay strong
Children are happy, gettin’ along
Sweat and struggle, muscle and steel
Laugh and cry, and shoulder that wheel

So that was today, tomorrow will follow
Wasn’t ready now it’s over, sometimes hard to swallow
Tryin’ to let go of mistakes and blame
Over and over, different and the same

Papa’s in the yard blowin’, metal to mouth
Water’s drippin’ from a leaky spout
Kids are paintin’, baby’s in the pool
Papa’s wound tight on an empty spool

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Better Said

I got an invitation to write some poetry

Shit.

I never even learned how to write

Poetry.

I once learned how to

write haikus but don’t even

do that well, okay?

And in high school I made fun of spoken word

Words, words, words, like drops of rain

f

 a

  l

   l

    i

     n

      g

fallen like daddy’s Little Angel, fallen,

Like, my generation was bringing beat poetry back,

Or more like we had invented that shit, man,

and I wasn’t going to let that shit go unnoticed. Word?

 

All this from an invitation to write some poetry

Shit.

She said “Pshaw sir” and…who even says that anyway?

It wasn’t an invitation to just me, like I had some great contribution,

like my poetry would save baby kittens around the globe

(though could it?)

 

Maybe she didn’t want to be alone.

Maybe she knows something I don’t.

 

Whatever.

 

I’m writing this because I can or

Maybe to prove something or

Maybe because I want to or

Maybe just because I took the invitation seriously, and

you should know I’m a very serious little guy.

 

Now here I am.

Where do you want me?

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