News – October 2021

Photo by Susan Jones on Unsplash
News - October 2021

Dear Joe, 

I am sorry that I forgot to call you on Sunday.
The weather here is changing;
summer is ending;
tomorrow the first fall storm arrives.

The trees aren’t turning color so much 
as losing color.
The ferns bend 
under the weight 
of the rain that drops 
from the trees.
Leaves fall 
into the mud and become 
soggy. It rains too much here for 
any kind of fall crispness.

We continue to function under 
the increasingly porous lock-down, 
masks at the ready.
They will make dating 
our pictures easier
for our grandchildren,
	if there are any pictures,
	if there are any grandchildren.

Just now there’s a bit of sun
and I wonder—how are you?
Has the season begun to turn there?

Published on The Laundry Line, 4 November, 2025.

Moonlight Mistaken for Safety

Photo by Tom Caillarec on Unsplash
Moonlight Mistaken for Safety 

Behind the Chinese restaurant,
the moon is reflected in 
a puddle of greasy water.
It is the perfect moon for me—
this reflection of a reflection.
It lights the down-turned 
face of the busboy grabbing a quick smoke
before he is called back to 
clear the tables in the banquet room.

	The noisy wedding party has gone.
	The too high bride and 
	the slightly drunk groom
	slid out the side door and into 
	an old white limo.

Moths flitter in the harsh orange glow
of the sodium vapor lamps
at either end of the alley.
Behind the dumpster,
in a dark spot, a cat 
crouches. Waiting.

Published in The Laundry Line, 22 October, 2025.

Eavesdropping

Photo by Joshua J. Cotten on Unsplash

Eavesdropping

I hear, I overhear,

I listen 
to the swallows, the creek, a truck climbing the hill.
their songs collide and spill over 
	the dam of my ears.

I hear the dawn song of the birds, the dusk song
of the little frogs, the night songs, 
all the night songs.
	Owls call to their mates and
	trees creak as they rub their branches together.

I would listen to your prayers but
there are no listening gods.
There are only the all seeing stars.
A spiral galaxy that makes no sound 
as it spreads its arms
to take up the universe’s undoing.

Listen, we have reached the end of our poem
it winds down like a unsprung watch,
registering its last few beats,
second hand twitching to a stop.

Published on The Laundry Line, October 14, 2025.