Cardigan and Corduroy

My left hand's fingers
have discovered
there's a button on this cardigan -
smoother than softserve ice cream
on this granola sweater

and I can't help but feel embarrassed
that I'm not wearing corduroy for pants
instead of this
ragamuffin jean
to top off
rather than bottom out
what I think this outfit should be.

There's a certain message
I don't want to send
as a result of my
misbegotten ensemble

and

neither does my
fuzzy
cardigan.

Cruise Control

I can change.
I really can.
And I have proof:

After one of those days
at work,
I drove home distractedly,
going a bit over the speed limit.

Got pulled over and received
a tongue-lashing
but at least not a ticket,
perhaps because I looked
disheveled and exhausted.

Scared out of my mind
on that stretch of road
from then on,
I needed a strategy,
so I started setting
cruise control
to the speed limit
every time I drove it.

So far so good.

If only
I had
cruise control
in other parts of life
to help me change,
really change -
just punch the button,
ride through the risky part,
and trust myself to
take control again
when the rough patch
is over.

Worms on Rainy Days

"We've all heard

of the child

throwing a starfish

back into the ocean

because it mattered

to that one.

"What of worms, 

strung out on sidewalks

during rains,
like so many
abandoned
spaghetti noodles?

"Who is saving
even one of them?"

I asked my mother
via telephone
from half a state away
on a rainy day.

"Actually,"
she said,
"Your dad just rescued
the ones who found their way
onto our sidewalk and porch."

I had no idea.

There seems to be some sort of
metaphor
lurking within the contrast of
the child with the starfish
and
my dad with the worms,

some deeper meaning
lying dying before me,
but how to rescure it
is a difficult question.

If I toss it too abruptly,
I'm afraid I'll kill it.

Rather, let me scoop it to you
gently.

See if you can
breathe some life into it. 

Geggy Tah Afternoon

(album cover from here and lyrics here)

Tired from a day
that's been a bit overcast
in more ways than one
(though the weather way was
one of those that brings out the earth's greens
brilliantly)

and teetering on the edge of contentment
and ambivalence,
I'm driving home
rather vacantly.

Then,
something small happens,
a particular song on the radio perhaps
or a bit of traffic luck,
and I slip into
a grin of satisfaction
and think of Geggy Tah
fondly
in one of those strange
jumps of random associations
that seems to shed a bit of
vibrant beauty and connective truth
beneath some otherwise ominous clouds.