waiting for lifts

you’re watching bulldog racing
i think it’s homer simpson
after i detect no angry homeless dudes
sam and matthew’s ghosts visited
cracking jokes, chewing baccy
this morning i slept through
what i labelled a five star ride
because at 6 am i needed more sleep
not a ride to a blood draw
cats scratch thumping on the cabinet
whines and face bumps
and the talking alarm clock
blueberries on concrete oatmeal
its a slow speed day
waiting around thinking about writing


noisy upstairs neighbours

for two days now the ceiling has thundered
you are louder than the tropical storm
which weeps that it is not a hurricane
a moment of quiet and then it starts again
there is something soothing about the rain
there is something frustrating about your noise
the peace in pieces it destroys
one wonders what a god of thunders employs
just heavy footfall and large toys?
do you have girls? do you have boys?
or do you have elephants migrating?
i complained yesterday after much hesitating

the fedora wearing baptist at my door

there is an intent in the knock
a desire to talk
come with the word
but no need to convert

it’s raining outside
i have attention on the cats
as i stand at the door
and a streak of white unpacks himself

he was a cat person
enjoys english history
has a view of christianity
he shares with certainty

asks my name
shakes my hand
comes to understand
a little about me about my beliefs