188. harbour dining

August:
and the seagulls
circle

smiling ship-sails
rest their
contented wings

scavenging above the
sapphire-strewn
surface,
cackling, boasting,
gossiping

children shriek
and call their
hungry
friends,
beckoning with strips of partly-eaten
lettuce from
lunch's ham
sandwich

sparkled concrete
blazes my
heat-soaked
toes;

gulls comingle with
assuming toddlers,
planes take-off of
life off,
unseeing

glistening, the water
hums and
whirs,
silver sapphire
in the
waning
sun.

July 3, 2018
Waterloo, ON

184. 2/3 Oranges

You are peeling the
orange
I have given you

The director
has my attention,
but my mind
follows the segments
torn, ligament
by
ligament.

The dressing room is
a circle of
smiling bodies...

Notes are done:

You are already
leaving;

All I see is your
backpack
out the
navy blue
door.

From the
hindsight of the future
you will
later thank me
for this
little
orange, but

as you sing your
aria do you
remember
the tender hand
which has
fed you?

Aug 6, 2017
Dalhousie University, Halifax, NS

171. The Opportunist

American Robin at Frank G. Bonelli Regional Park

San Dimas, Southern California

Image Source: Two Birders To Go

Noble:
red head
raised high,

the robin
bounces
steadily, beady
eyes glimmering
with the
spring rain

in such splendour,
lone on the
beaming emerald
do I notice:

Stringy worms
dangling from
its resurfaced
beak;
munching, it is
a mortal like any other;
the rain,
fortuitous

Cantopop sails
in from the adjacent
living room;
eyelids painted and
eyes scrunched in
synchronous exertion:
dolled-up girls
and girly
boys

Things
seem not so
cheap
anymore…

169. The Sidewalk Restaurant

Mapo Tofu (麻婆豆腐)

Image Source:
http://www.dianshu119.com/index.php?doc-view-881.html

Cheery chatter,
Mandarin,
surrounds like fumes;
we are
no longer
alone

cigarette smoke
deafens

the air conditioner
whirs,
green Tsingtao
bottles
glimmer,
translucent and
half-drunk

The noisy little
toddler
reaches for his
distracted 爸爸’s
tempting beer, reaches
to his lips

caught
(nearly too late), he is
smartly
rebuked

watching, I smile a
little

the 麻婆豆腐
is excellent

168. Cattle through the Peepholes

circles:
blinking eyes
beyond,
eyelashes long and
golden, dusty;
flies
interspersed

still yet
moving,
inches become
miles,
through alchemy
to kilo-
metres

skin beneath
metal,
air beneath
exhaust fumes:
and in the driver’s seat
the unthinking
be-jeaned,
be-plaid-shirted
blue collar
robot

driving,
surviving,

one eye:

glassy,
still, and
searching

98. Chocolate

Deep and dark;
bitter sweetness on my
eager tongue.
Soft and sensual;
little florets
bloom within my
captivated
mouth.

When all the children are asleep
and the evening’s work is
done:
how nice it is to sit in the
silent darkness,
thinking of nothing
doing nothing
but enjoying this sinful
morsel

in a moment’s
single, solitary
bliss;
alone and awake
in the dark hours,
only with a box of chocolates
and nothing else.

84. Tosca is Lost

Tosca is lost:
Tosca is lost!
Tosca is lost at the grocery.
Tosca is lost;
Tosca is confused –
the flyers said the mushrooms were on
sale today;
Tosca does not even like mushrooms,
but Tosca does not like this new diet
either;

Tosca is lost:
Tosca is lost;
all is lost at the
checkout line.
Tosca glares enviously at the row next to
hers;
fatsos with pounds upon
pounds of
FOOD.
Tosca wishes she could still eat that much,
picks up a magazine to distract
herself;
skinny bitch, this is what she’s become
too;
Tosca throws it down;
gastric bypass wasn’t such a good
idea…

Tosca is lost,
Tosca is lonely.
Tosca is not liking the piles of music left unread on the couch.
Tosca takes her up her
Scarpia (little yipper) in her
weary arms;
groceries will wait…
Tosca is lost,
but Tosca listens to her
doctor.

Tosca is lost,
Tosca is out of breath:
Tosca has gotten herself lost in -
Central Park; Tosca is not used to this -
exercise thing -
Tosca sits on a bench,
jealously watching the runners jog
by.
Goddamn, your glistening bodies are
perfect, stop flaunting them at
me!
Tosca does not -
understand -
why people continue -
to masochistically -
put themselves through Hell when -
they already look like the -
Greek pantheon,
maybe
better –

Tosca is lost…
Tosca is lost…
Tosca dreams she is a
skinny model, impossible size
-2,
walking down the catwalks in
Milano,
but the audience is not applauding.
They want her to sing, but
Tosca –
Tosca can’t –
she can’t sing a
Goddamn
note!

BEEPBEEPBEEP!
Tosca is late!

Tosca is found,
Tosca is found in the dressing room.
Tosca to stage in 5.
Tosca slips her black wig
over her itchy hairnet,
tiara in place, red gown wrinkle
free, clip-on diamond
earrings on each
lobe;
scales run themselves automatically
in her insured throat.
“Vissi d’arte, vissi d’arte…”
she finds herself chanting,
adding “Fuck Scarpia” in between
iterations, for good measure.
Tosca to stage, Tosca to stage.

Tosca is found, Tosca is finally
found, running dramatically,
breathlessly onto stage:
Tosca sings, Tosca
Goddamn sings the
bleeding chunks
away.

Deborah Voigt's transformation.
Left: Aida, 2011 (before).
Right: Salome, 2006 (after).

65. Oiseaux exotiques

4 slightly restless tourists,
all smiles          gaze around
curiously:
you can tell they are not lost,
but curious.

Aliens:
we do not know how far
they have come
to buy a cup of coffee
and donuts.

In one moment, they are
fascinating, strange
in their foreign movements,
odd costumes;
curiosity fades though
as they fly from sight,
though not from
mind.

54. Breakfast Time

Silly things!
Scurrying ‘round in flocks of 2 or 3,
picking at the scraps:
French toast doesn’t remain
on the ground for long!

I can tell the females are
greyish; males maybe brighter brown.
I’m no ornithologist;
I can appreciate a good little bird
though;
these little things are
little wonders,
aren’t they!

Look: this one has a
pink Fruit Loop
stuck round its beak:
if Kellogg knew how convenient
these were for the little birdies,
they would be proud –

How well they fit, like wreaths
around their beaks;
how well they fit down their little throats!
I don’t know if I should be mad,
losing bits of food to them,
or if I should be amused at their excitement, their sugar high;
or just to sit in peace,
regarding them
with such a
watchful eye!

"...daintily picking up a Cheerio..."
Photograph by Kelly Riccetti

Source: Red and the Peanut

50. An Apology

The first time,
I recognized that awkward way
you tried to strike up conversation,
succeeding, yet failing –

The second, I thought
you would have forgotten:
I was busy stuffing my mouth
with free Timbits.
I did not look attractive
(this is an honest admission) –
I was startled
you even remembered
me.

It’s scary, wonderful,
knowing –
someone pines for me
as I languish for others.
A strange twist of fate that
we must all suffer at
each other’s hands.

I see you sometimes.
I would like to say, “Hello”
and explain,
but I cannot recall
your name.
Maybe success demands
that I break hearts,
yours:
and
mine.

16. Morning Glory

the burnt honey brightly trickles,
drops of fragrant translucent liquid
plummet to the jugs below:
Columbian, chocolate macaroon, crème brûlée

aromas fill the darkened hall,
nasal cavities resound with waking sense
(and now we wait, stuffing the trays
like horizontal Christmas stockings)

I am alone for these first shaded moments
crouching in the darkness, thinking;
behind the metal lattice things prepare themselves,
waiting until the moment they shine

it is almost therapeutic,
these exotic beans -
tickling the senses,
emboldening the eyes

9. Squished Caterpillars

Upon the red-brown cobblestones,
All sprayed across the ground –
The crushed intestines roast away
Beneath a heartless sun.

In almost lovely yellow seas
The ants are interspliced –
The spotted skin resilient,
A boat beneath the waves.

Unwary of the earth they tread,
Yet mindful of the way –
The time flits far too fast to note
The banquets underneath.

In torrid minutes, crisp and brown –
The bowel-juices fry;
The blood is soaked into the stone
as recognition – fades.