hugs

he sat on a rock
in golden gate park
holding a sign that read
'free hugs'
hundreds nay thousands
of people looked
as they walked by
like maybe the crud from
his dreadlocks might
jump on them during
the exchange
like the dirt from his jacket
would smear their
patagonia windbreakers
like the small surge of
body energy might
take something away
rather than give it to them
but the hippy girls
surrounded him in a
joyous group hug
squeals and kisses too
i'm glad
cause hey
i didn't want to hug him either.

hospitals

i know them pretty well
better than funeral homes
i have seen many tubes and iv's
coarse woven sheets and thick pillows
i know about the little side table
that hold toothbrushes and tiny black combs
if you don't use them
you will still get charged
so either use them
or take them
cause you get charged
either way

i know about the bed
which if you crank this
or step on this power button
will make the bed rise
and sit up
or raise the legs
the bed turning into
letters: w L v _
okay the last one
wasn't a letter
they are supposed to
make you comfortable
plus the tv remote
or the help me fucking help
me nurses button
or sometimes you get to push
your own morphine drip button
push jane push
push dick push

i've watched the monitors
so many times
the heart rate
the-i-don't-know-the pulse
is that different from the heart?
the breathing
the bells and whistles that go off
if you dip below the
accepted rates
or put a kink in your tube

i like the dry erase boards
when the nurses actually bother
to write in when they are on shift
some don't bother
i like the food
& that you can have popsicles & juice
if you are the caregiver
parent child
because you're loved one
can't have anything
except what comes in that drip bag

i always have a journal
of visitors that sign in
of the daily prognosis
these can be kept to remind
you or me of
that dream state
of hospitalization
of trauma and yes
terror not spoken not thought of
consciously denied
kept in this dream state
and not until 'the journal'
is looked at years later
is the horror apparent
this is a very
fucked up situation.

make it go away

when the divorce is final
when debts are settled
when the last court appearance
can be done over the phone
so you are not subjected to
his loathsome person
his hateful eyes
his loud growling voice
and even though you got
nothing from the settlement
except your own attorney bills
and the shirt on your back
be grateful
you at least got out
with your life
cause it just as easily
could have gone that way
and now
the ink has dried
and tomorrow is a new day
but how can you erase
'it' from your memory
i know i know
time and alcohol
and don't even try to
placate yourself with
remembering only the good times
just make it all go away
cheers
and make it a double.

luck

as you walk through the casino
your eyes scanning
you stop
listen
and decide from the slot machine
cacophony
that 'that' machine
is 'the one'
the one that will turn your luck
from poor to rich
raining coins from it's
loose slots mouth
your optimism palpable
later i find you
at the bar with a cold beer
and not much else to show
for this week's paycheck
'hey' you say
'there's still next week'
and wink and smile.

i like listening to motown

particularly when i'm sitting at the computer
at work
and the warm afternoon makes me lazy
and the glare of the computer screen
makes my eyes tired
quietly blasting the speakers
in my direction
trying to keep it from rolling
down the hallway
to other worker offices
i bob my head in time
to the beat of al green
dianna ross
and my forever favorite
barry white
and i dance while sitting down
it makes me feel like
i'm cool
sometimes i even
snap my fingers
yeah i'm old school.

the weekend

the weekend---for ‘shooter’

drove back to the rez
with just enough gas
to get there and back
my lover lent me money
so my checks would stop bouncing
and we painted in rose and cream
the freshly mudded sheetrock
of the bedroom my daughter
accidentally burnt down
the only radio station being 80’s rock
i haven’t heard those songs
since college
all the while ‘his’ name
kept popping into my head
freshly suicided the day before
and i wonder why
and how life gets so bad
that a seemingly passionate about life
person loads the shotgun
and grand funk railroad plays
and cream from disraeli gears
led zeppelin you know the ilk
the sun pours through the windows
i add a little rum to the coke
clean the brushes and trays
drive back to the city
his name keeps popping in
the gas gauge is almost empty
and his name keeps popping in.

jeramiah

3rd day of spring
snow flurries and whipping wind
i see a mama pushing a stroller
barefoot baby no hat no gloves
i circle the block and park
go looking for this mama
and say 'where's your baby's socks?
where's your baby's shoes?'
she says 'you don't know me'
i say 'i don't but i'm a gramma of
a 1 year old and a 2 year old and a momma of others'
and this isn't right
and take off my gloves and put them
on his feet
he's not fussing or crying
he's just accepting the freezing
'what's his name?'
'jeramiah' how old? one.
i say come with me and she does
i go to my car where i have my
baby car seat and rummage among
the toys to find a hat and blanket
and snackie foods and a toy
she says bless you and goes off
i run up to my apartment find socks
find a warm coat and run back down
but she's gone
i drive around looking for her
all gone
i stand on my balcony looking
over the city blocks
nothing
"jeramiah!!!!!'
nothing
jeramiah may you find warmth
in the cold
coolness in desert heat
and food for your tiny belly
give your momma strength
to make a life beyond homeless.