dead fish marionette

pulled by strings of dull gray lead
she invites us to sit round the corner
with the barbed hook of her thumb

she takes our order as if we are
intestines holding menus
and only provides cutlery
after haphazardly digesting our request

across the room she absentmindedly
flips a new tablecloth of old crumbs
and in its wind asks how our meal is

our answer is lost to her dead fish
marionette movements

co-written with zen sutherland

---

neighborhood sentry

footsteps echo
from bare floor and walls as I stand
in the hollow back bedroom to our new home

look out to the yard, mud colored lawn
life barren still, with receding ice.
effortlessly ducking brush, thick and tangled
woven along the faded brown fence
a family of quail appears, steel blue
feathers of silk.

four, five, six
they frolic to and from fence top
hindering my count.

I watch a moment longer
faltering between springtime wonder
and a touch of sadness
foresight, for when my cats move in
come end of the week.

---

cheaper by the litre

almost an hour into the trip
our winter get-away into the mountains
cedar chalet waiting for us
a timely cancellation occurring on our behalf
we dash into the store for groceries
head for the sodas

earthen-friendly one that you are
this time you question me
why is it that I prefer cans, all that
excess packaging
to a two litre bottle instead

oblivious at first to my own cheerful animations
I begin to show you
a succulent groan
grasp for my throat
seductive explanation
why there is nothing better
than the thirst quenching chill of an icy cola
bubbling from the can
biting down my throat

suddenly you get that gleam in your eyes
apple-green mischief, with a hint of cinnamon
as if I've just pressed in to you
the way we kiss
leaned in for a tender one
left you with another hard-on
and we both begin to laugh

the aisle is our own, nearly
the whole store
as you hold me close
our laughter subsiding
and tell me again
how much I live poetry
how much you enjoy reading me