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Taking My Old Dog Out To Pee Before Bed

Dew is already deep in the overgrown grass, / the air damp with a salty tang. / Zeke’s hips are too ground down / to lift a leg, so he just stands there.

And Another Generation Cometh

More Reasons You’re Thinking Of Killing Yourself

Because it’s embarrassing how many poems you’ve written / about killing yourself.

Selected Poems

— from “Good People” | On the way to the wedding of his friend, his car struck a dog, and he had no time to stop, / but he’s a good person.

My Grief Affair

I met Grief at your funeral. He was wearing a T-shirt, / jeans, and flip-flops in January, smoking a joint / in the corner; he put it out just as the funeral / director rushed over.

The Book I’m Writing

is a book about loss and heartbreak, / also delusion, distaste, quiet villainy, and sabotage. / There’s a strong pulse of hope near the beginning, / the rhythm of which weakens as the narrative develops.

To The Gentleman Who Asked For $500 To Cap My Chimney

Rain was getting in. A lot of it. / And there was evidence of bats. / And when I asked you why it was / so damn expensive, you cited / careful measuring, a high- / quality cap, an exacting process.

Improvement

The optometrist says my eyes / are getting better each year. / Soon he’ll have to lower my prescription. / What’s next? The light step I had at six?

Needs

I need a hug from you, from behind, as I’m standing at the kitchen window, washing dishes and looking at the one pink-flowering branch left on the peach tree.