Replacing Shoelaces

is such a mundane
rare
activity

that it somehow seems
anciently ritualistic,

something I never have to practice
but always know how to do,

as if I'm tapping into
a timeless practice
native to my species
and instinctive to my body;

a practice, though, that is
going the way
of the dodo
and the post office

as the mass of
ever-advancing humanity
shifts to
velcro
slip-ons
and other laceless footcoverings
and
as we grow
ever more prone
to simply tossing out the old
and buying up the new
before the natural effects of
time and wear
are allowed to settle in.

We're missing the aglet and the string of
the slick and skinny Sunday shoelace
(ever too short)
and
the puffy snake-patterned hiking boot lace
(ever too long),
though we do seem to be compensating with
the neon, plaid, and other designer fads
that are transforming the lace from a
boring staple of life
to a statement of individual -
or more likely sub-cultural -
identity,
which, too, seems necessary
to replace
from time to time.

One of those Mariah Carey Mornings

You laughed
when you walked in and heard
not the usual Oscar Peterson Pandora station
but the dulcet tones
of
"Do do doo, dow;
Do do doo do doo d'dow."

Now I must grin
and explain
it's not my fault -
it was stuck in my head when I woke up this morning,
lingering on

throughout breakfast
and the 13 times I watched the music video on YouTube
and for the rest of the day,
til I knew there was
no way I was ever gonna shake her.

You tried to console my indulgence
by suggesting that
perhaps
some days just had
Mariah Carey mornings
but recommended that
I not tell anyone about the 13 views,
which I gladly would've done,
had she not always been a part of me.

Since gradeschool I've imagined
(upon each hearing of the song)
resting my head on the lap of
my elementary-school crush
as she ran her fingers through my hair,
and sitting, for some reason,
in the basement of my best friend's house
in a mid-90s music video.

I still find in 2014,
time can't erase a feeling that strong

because it's somehow continually soothing
to know and feel
I'll always be someone's baby.

Recuerdos de la Alhambra

"Recuerdos de la Alhambra"
was on one of the few cds
I took to college,
and since it was the first track
and I couldn't figure out how
to program the alarm clock
to play anything but,
I woke to it almost every morning
of my first semester

as if it were my own version
of Bill Murray's
Groundhog day,
only I never tried to kill myself,
or seduce a woman
(at least not the same one repeatedly),
and the events following the awakening
were different.

It's really my favorite
and only
classical guitar piece
I know
and can hum competently,
bringing back memories
each time...
just not of Alhambra.

Lawn Mowing

I fill the tank

And pull the chord

And push in semi-straight rows.

I slacken the pace

And swipe off more sweat

The farther on I go.

I see the neighbors 

On riding mowers

Gliding on with ease.

I'm glad, however,

For the chance

To purge some jealousy

And burn some energy

Somehow we're all here

At the same time

As if we've all heard and responded 

A call, not of nature,

To beat it back.

The Corner Room

Let me teach in a room in the corner of the school
Where the race of students go by,
The ones coming in,
The ones going out,
The ones stair-ing up
and down.

I would not sit in the cynic's seat
or hurl the rules at them;

Let me teach in a room in the corner of the school
and be a mentor to them.

I hear from my chair in the corner of the room
the knocks upon my window
of students coming in early
and staff who've forgetten their keys,
and I must get up and go.

For my light is the only one on at 5am
and my class is right next to the door.

Let me teach in a room in the corner of the school
and be a friend to all.

The Clouds Jar Me into Stopping

The clouds jar me
into stopping
to notice how their mottled front
moving across the night sky
looks like the top
of broiled marshmallows
on top of brown sugar
and sweet potatoes
that Mom makes at
Thanksgiving.

I remember
formerly looking
at the clouds
more often,
and I wonder
what's changed
that I don't
anymore.

Parking Lot Gulls

There they were:

gulls on the parking lot.

And I thought, "So, are they called seagulls
just because someone saw them on the sea?"

And then I thought, "duh."
(though that doesn't explain the "gull" part)

And then I thought," Well, then, these are
Parking Lot Gulls,
and they will have a meaning bestowed upon them
as soon as I snap a photo or two
to remind me to write this poem."

Good thing I did, too.

But now to the business of assigning meaning.
I googled "gull"
and wikipedia told me a lot.
which I skimmed and distilled to these factors:

Gulls eat almost anything
and are monogomous.

Let us, then,
be like the gulls

but less screechy.