JOES AND RITAS

The bar was dark and chilly
And neon shone from the window
And made the bottles glitter in the mirror behind the till
Leather covered the stools and booths
And it smelled of beer on tap and cheap whiskey
She sat at the farthest stool, at the end of the bar
The seat closest to the juke
And fed it several dollars
Playing Tori Amos, the lounge singer done good
Who seemed to have all the answers
She sipped her Patron slowly
Savoring the burn
Trying to chase away something
That was chasing her
The bartender watched her from the corner of his eye
She didn't belong here
The bar was downtown, blue collar joes and good time ritas
Just good people looking for an escape for a night
She was uptown, upscale, upper class
And she'd never find the answer's to her problems
In a place like this, good as it was
She looked like she had lost in the game
But the bartender knew it was just a round
And she'd have another and another shot at it
And with her beauty doors would open
One after another for most of her life
Whereas with goodtime rita's they had one door, maybe two
And had to jump through the one door that opened
Before it closed again
The bartender wanted to tell her that, explain
She needed to leave before the joes heard the whistle blow
And began swarming her, sending her drinks
Making her feel special for an hour or two
And then completely empty forever
Hearts are cheap and he knew she hadn't learned that yet
She was still soft and clean, still smooth and sweet
And he knew a joe would change that forever
Joes worked hard and played hard and their lives were hard
They would love her and cherish her
But the life would break her and the love would fall away
The bartender saw it all the time
He wanted to protect her, although he didn't know why
He walked toward her slowly, taking her in
Blond hair, blue eyes, designer clothes
How on earth did she find her way in here
He wondered again?
     "Miss, it's time for you to go home.  This isn't the place for a girl        like you."
She looked at his with those eyes, suddenly defiant
And then a bit frightened.
She nodded and smiled the saddest smile he had ever seen.
He wanted to close for the night and take her home.
He resisted; he was no joe.
He told her all the things in his heart, about the joes and the ritas
And how good life was going to be for her
She leaned over the bar and kissed his cheek
He watched her walk out and hoped her scent would stay with him
And the work whistle blew

GRIEF

I feel as though I've been thrown
Into the deepest part of the ocean
And left completely alone.
I can see the blue of the sky
And the dark black below
And I'm drowning in grief.
It wraps around me like the cold salt water
And I can't find my way to the warm shore
And I can't see the horizon at all.
I'm lost in thoughts and memories
And none of them warm me at all.
My favorite part of Christmas
Is the beautiful bittersweet melancholy
That fills the holidays with a velvet warmth
And I revel in it.
But nothing like that exists in grief.
It's an ice pick
That finds the one wound that has finally healed
And opens it, twisting slowly
Making sure you don't have a second, a moment
     a day, a week, a month
With no pain
But there is healing in nature
And glory in the stars, sweetness in the wind
And someday the universe will teach me how
To turn grief to grace.

Unbuttoning a pair
Of 501 Levi jeans
Undiscovered world

An old guitar with

     brand new strings that plays sweet songs

           about blues and the moon

BAM BAM

Stupidity has never been my strong suit
I've always excelled at everything I've tried
And yet here I sit
Escaping being a statistic
Only by virtue of my age and my income
I stare out the window
covered in one of those flimsy paper gowns
And wonder what wise woman first said
"Keep your socks on"
It's raining outside and it suits my mood
And YES!
I'm being over-dramatic, god-damnit
But I have a right to be
42 years old
Vice President of a major 200 corporation
And caught completely unaware
...... well, perhaps not completely 
I am not an idiot and I know how birth control works.
I remember all too well the night
That got me in this condition.
Several drinks, a rock concert, front row against the stage
Backstage pass and afterward the drummer ...
who signed my ....
I had nothing for him to sign
But oh honey, he was perfection
With those big arms and boyish charm
And an accent just as sweet as a Georgia peach
And although I had nothing for him to sign
He sure as hell left his signature behind.
Where the hell is the doctor?
He's giving me too much time to think!
The pregnancy test this morning, responsibilities I don't know if I want
And do I have to tell the drummer?
He's a drummer for christ sake!
He talked about sex and pot and drumming
And I think his brain was at full capacity!
I certainly don't need a dime of his money
Or a piece of advice from that Georgia peach!
Where the fuck is that doctor?
Does the drummer daddy have a right to know?
That's the real question?
What could he bring to a child's life?
To a .... a child.
Just the drummer, the drummer.
I can keep my mind on him.
Do I tell him or not.
Does he have rights?
No, of course not!
After a quickie backstage
And by the way ...
I am NOT a fucking groupie!
And I don't even know
How to reach him
Except through his fan club.
His fan club!!
Oh Jesus ...
I'm a groupie.

RAW

It all started so fucking simple
A raw stare across a bar
A smile
Kisses in a car
Bodies against a door
In a bed
On the floor
It almost became a cliche
It could have become a joke
And when he said with truth
"I love you"
And she replied in kind
Not even thirty hours
After first stare
It almost became a soap opera plot
But he did
And she did
And they were shocked
By their own behavior
But they were most scared
Because they weren't scared
Not at all
They had been around the block
More than once, more than twice
Had been to the magic show
And figured out all the tricks
They had played the games
And were finally raw
And almost ready
To give it all up
Be alone
Hibernate
Embrace their base
And hide away the layers
And then suddenly it was all so fucking simple.
She thought his hands were beautiful
Strong, well worked, masculine.
He thought she has the softest lips
He had ever kissed.
She cried when he told her of his childhook
His heart pounded in fury as she told him of her former marriage
There was baggage between them
     as heavy as a lifetime
There were secrets they had never shared
There was laughter, even under covers
They compared tattoos, outlined them with tips of tongues
There were no games
They were raw
There was sex and more sex
And what started as a delicious release
Became a communion of hearts and souls
And unknown ecstasy
And because they were raw
Pleasure had fallen down on them like rain
They knew before fifty hours had passed
They had been searching for each other
Since the awakening of all desire
And they would never be parted
No matter what they had to change or destroy
To have the life they had been denied
The nauseating fairy tale
The fucking simple story
The badly written soap opera plot
Had gone from fiction to reality
And it was real
It was a lifetime of desire
That became an answered question
It was a chaotic symphony of souls
It was two people who never expected this
     at this point in their lives
It was two people
Who finally allowed themselves
To become raw

SUBTLE HINTS

It is not winter ... yet
I know it's far away
Miles from here
Like a bedtime story
At the break of day.
Like chasing a dream
As it fades.
But there are subtle hints it's coming
A winter that I don't know
If I should dread or embrace.
It's only autumn
Not even fully fall yet
And it's an Indian summer
With crisp blue skies
And warm winds that wrap around your body
Like a lover's touch.
But now and then I notice
The leaves have begun to change
Again, just subtle hints
Flecks of gold and red
Where all was once green
Like Ponyboy and Robert Frost.
Well, Eden hasn't sunk to grief yet.
Tonight I'll put away all thoughts of winter
And revel in the Indian summer
With good wine and good friends
The lovers touch and the warm wind
And dreams that will pass through the night.

GYPSY POETS

Down in a Mexican town
With too many lovers
And not enough friends;
We discover our true destiny:
      gypsy poets.
The constants are as ever;
The sun, the sea, the holy moon
The empty visions of us all
perpetually stoned writers
We are vampires of the mind
Cannibals of the soul
Thieves of faith
We play with hearts
As easily as playing with words
And feel no regret
At discarding one
And seducing another.
We light candles in ornate churches
And pray for our damned souls
But our painted lips give us away
For we worship nothing but words
And revel in our own faithlessness
Gypsy tramps.