Nice Shoes.
Nice shoes, she says. Good choice.
I’m not silly. I know what she’s doing.
She’s not praising their style, how eco-chic they are.
She’s praising their comfort, their roominess. Their frivolity
for fondling feet.
Good shoes, she says as though she is saying, good dog.
Well, they are Hush Puppies.
Philippa is a podiatrist and she’s about to trim my toe nails.
We walked along the windy beach.
Sand whipped our legs.
The seagulls screeched.
Yet hand in hand we walked on,
while in our faces the future shone.
a rogue raindrop
just blotted the pristine page
of my new yorker
He couldn’t read the writing on the wall.
It was very small.
He squinted and he squizzed
and he said, Gee Whiz
it’s no good at all.
You’re going to need glasses,
Was the optometrists’ call
a man ran up to me on the beach and yelled BOO!
Big Blue Mouth 