Three Poems

            Girl

We are sitting at our booth

in the nook. I’m on the phone

with Andy. I laugh at something

and you crack a joke I don’t hear

or understand – I’m not sure which.

You think it’s plenty funny – or

maybe it’s the confused look

on my face – but whatever it is

collapses you, your head cradled,

shaking in your arms on the table,

laugh-noises rising from you

to me. And probably to Andy.

Your chestnut hair shimmers over

your pale arms, mirroring your mirth.

You have these girl-moments – singing

those silly kid songs to the grandkids

or to me, or breaking into a skip

on our walks along Henry Street, or

telling a joke that sounds like your dad.

Even though you have moved into

Medicare, and I’m following close behind,

and our backs hurt, etc., etc., etc.,

and though you love being Grandma Kim

and Grandma Pooh, the girl still giggles

within you, rising to bless the world

like your hair we all want to touch

and the spirit we all love to love.

            Baggy Pants

Gimme them    baggy pants

hangin loose all over mlegs

Yeah them    baggy pants

they smooth    theys mfavorite rags

with room in mpockets

for mhans an mkeys

an ahm there hidin inside

no they cant see me hidin

jus mpants baggy pants

cut saggy an flappy an wide

Gimme them    baggy pants

hangin loose all over mlegs

Yeah them    baggy pants

they smooth    theys mfavorite rags

Yo tight pants is nice

fo doin yo-yo moves

letm see whatcha got when ydance

but fo me makem loose

set me free jus to be

in mblow-ina-breeze baggy pants

Gimme them    baggy pants

hangin loose all over mlegs

Yeah them    baggy pants

they smooth    theys mfavorite rags

Chasing Butterflies

My wife is into butterflies.

Saturdays when I visit Starbucks

and the barista asks, “How’s Kim?”

I answer, “Oh, she’s out

chasing butterflies with a friend.”

She brings home cocoons

and chrysalises attached to twigs -

dried pods, wrinkled pouches,

each with an exotic name.

She hangs some out on our porch

waiting for transformation.

Kim tells me that soon

after they emerge,

pheromones will draw

eager mates to the screens.

When Kim comes home she shows

me her treasures,

downloads her photos,

then after a quick dinner

she heads for the bathtub,

sheds her jeans and turtleneck

and firmly closes the door

to wash off mud and DEET,

check for ticks and chiggers,

and soak her tired muscles.

She emerges pink and new,

often with a touch of perfume.