Monday, March 30, 2015


The other day,
I didn't want to vent to my wife;
I wanted to share something good,
but I wasn't sure what to call it.

(How sad we don't already
Have a catch phrase for doing that.)

"Can I...
Brim to you,"
I ventured.
But that didn't feel right.

"Can I revel with you,"
Didn't sound right either
At all.

"Can I exult to you,"
I finally tried
And felt satisfied.

She replied.

So I did.
Then she did.

It seemed to provide
Much more 
Than usually comes from venting,
Which we think will calm us down
Since we're "blowing off steam"
When aren't we really just
Re-inhaling it?

Saturday, March 21, 2015


My daughter and I play
with stacking toys,
the diaper bag,
my lip and bicuspids.

We laugh and connect
and I realize that neither of us
will remember these moments
and that's

Then why do them?

I suppose they form some sort of
ineffable element of our identities
individually as well as
in our father-daughter dyad.

This play like rain drops,
not distinguishably preserved
yet making the ocean of our lives

Friday, March 6, 2015

Suddenly with No Surprise

Suddenly, with no surprise,
I find myself almost 30
And realize
There are still people my age
Traipsing about
Still unsure what to do with this thing called
As if it's an item of clothing
Gifted from a relative
That one's obliged to wear
Though it never fits quite right,
Always the armpits sag too low
And you can't help but alternate
Between wearing it
And hiding it,
Bucking up, grinning and wearing it
Or cringing and eschewing it
To the Goodwill pile.

I wonder, since probably that single demographic
And even myself
Who has a steady job, a mortgage,
A wife, son, daughter, and dog,
Still kind of feel like 
What seems to be a later version of 17,
If this infantile octogenarian in my mind's eye
And her motherly daughter
In the seating area at the doctor's office
Simply feel like they are
17 version 5.0
(or 17 Cougar for Mac users).

I guess I'll know someday,
And I'm sure it will seem suddenly
It will be no surprise.