In transient times like the weekend
that took away two days
long and standalone
permanence is yet possible:.
A man wanting to be prime minister
would correct his history
and get his politics ‘right’
– in all the right ways.
A stronger side might talk peace
on equal terms with the other;
that men talking peace would not translate this
into laws covering up violence on women –
their’ women somewhere there.
A sports event you can only watch on TV,
would show you just that,
not soldiers with sniffer dogs,
That athletes at these events might kiss each other
and in the true spirit,
suspicious only of toothpaste.
That you and me and I and we,
could be just this, with our smiles and no labels.
that a woman could still tell her best friend:
pay me no compliments, these are fetters.
I’d rather be wild and myself.
In Praise of Status Updates
I gotta get this update down
before I write nuther line
morning may well pass, afternoon linger,
and evening beckon for all I care
But I gotta figure this out-
an update just right and pithy,
just so to make you smile, and
for your eyes only.
The climax can wait, not mine,
with my heroine, half-undressed
in my ever unfinished novel
whose theme changes from romance
to mystery to noir and even porn
as I agonize over the perfect update.
Mess after mess piles up, unmet deadlines too
calls get missed, and dates too but oh darn
my life can be as romantic as I want
just once I get this update done,
laced just tight.
the laundry is a mountain crying to be ironed.
there’s something in the oven
heck, it was delicious just before I burnt it.
and I still ain’t got my update down yet.
On Liking a Friend’s Photo
Hello my friend,
and so I just liked a photo of you
from a time you or I did not know each other
a time when only this photo
knew its own existence.
I do not know when it was taken,
or even where
but on facebook for the last one year,
I’ve known you for ever.
perhaps I know why you put it up.
Does this make me a friend,
or just an unwilling accomplice,
someone conjoined to your memories,
in a forced way –
as intruder, trespasser, voyeur?
If my likes stay on your wall,
and I am still your friend
will I always be in your memory
fifteen years from now?
On Men, in General
Sometimes words fail me
I smile at the man holding the door open
an offhand courtesy,
an unexpected kindness.
Oftentimes I’d rather stare
say at Morgan Freeman,
and never mind if he isn’t Mandela
especially not on a billboard picture,
too widely shared-
heck, everything about him, of him, is just right
When friends far away post childhood pictures
I like these unconditionally,
they look as good now as they could ever do
happy fathers, perhaps loving husbands, and who’s to know
but may God bless them and theirs.
There are eyes I catch on my rear view mirror
resigned looks of waiting at center lanes
or impatient faces urging me on at stop signs
All the world’s handsomest men
are those I’ve passed silently
at traffic signals and intersections,
even three way streets.
and may it always be so.
The Ease of it All
Here’s how I do it, so plain easy
I type in words for you to see
just so many letters, an invisible act
so very matter of fact.
I could have just as well called you on my iPhone
looked you up in our spread out time zones
knowing I’d find you in the midst of something
you looking up perhaps impatient;
how long do you let your phone ring?
then you smiling, I hope, and looking with resignation
at your spread out world, and commitments –
varied and myriad,
words I can never put in a conversation.
how do we ever begin?
it’s a long winter here in me
and must I really ask you for a bit of sun?
Instead I write it, unrehearsed even in my head
see how I spell sad and lonely words
waiting, only to be read.
For that moment, your eyes on my words,
and I can’t ask for anything more.