On a Wednesday in 1989

As clear as twelve-hour old coffee
she told me goodbye
a jolt of caffeinated remorse
left me wide-eyed and pondering
as the glare from dawn’s light
screamed, painfully, ‘morning after’

The pot turned out to be empty
a good thing, in retrospect as I
sure as hell didn’t need topping off

Harvest

Separating the wheat
of bittersweet remembrance
from the chaff that was us

reaping now what was sown
then in blissfully ignorant soil

Jaywalker

She crosses my mind from time to time
in a downtown crosswalk, distracted,
late-for-a-lunch-date manner

sometimes she is more casual, unaware,
letting the dog out, grabbing the Sunday
paper off the sidewalk before brunch

She crosses my mind from time to time
weaving through downtown like a drunken
sailor in 3 inch pumps with a broken heel

sometimes she paces as if her cab is late

She crosses my mind from time to time
usually without warning and always,

always, always against the light