This Is Not a Poem

This is not a poem.

It is a fuse blown in your
basement, a squirrel chewing
through the window screen,
the thump of a bird against
the living room window

This is not a poem. It is

You on your high horse, a
piece of paper in your hand
calculating this month’s
bills, it is the change jar jangling
in a kitchen drawer,
the low hum of the dishwasher,

It is the calm before the storm,

it is a gender war brewing and you
picking your side. The washrooms
are the new battle ground. Protect
our wives and daughters for
God’s sake.

This is not a poem. It is your

neighbour’s lilies turning
brown in the cooling air, leaves
haphazardly pointing up and
sideways. Down and to
the right.

This is our children walking

to school with spit hoods
over their heads. It is
easier to inflict pain, they
say, when you can’t
see the face.
Sea Change

The streets are flooded and we’ve

forgotten how to swim. Water
has caught fire and our phones
have gone black. No matter. Emergency
services were long ago discontinued.
“Austerity” they said.

Vermin take turns

dying in our streets--rats, cats,
possum and mice. humans. Again
in that order. Repeat. Repeat.

Happiness
is limited to small moments- the
arrival of a package on the porch, a
dog with its head out a car window,
a squirrel seen sleeping in a tree,
The first tulip of the season

The last chrysanthemum of the

Fall is floating now, turning grey.
Dying. Dead. Returning to
the earth.

Or catching fire- one

last spectacular show then
fizzling to nothing and no
longer drawing an audience.
Dinner

“The herbs are from the garden”, you say.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, “the plating”.
No one wants to make the first move
although we both know
you already did.

We stare at each other like this.

“I got the butter you like” you say,

“The kind with four sleeves in the box”.
“Less messy” I say.

Although I haven’t picked up

my knife, I can see the butter is
still too hard
“What time did you take it out?” I ask
“An hour ago.”
“ah.”

Outside the streetlights

flicker, one after another.
rumblings from the last
Gotrain vibrate through
the walls.

From the kitchen, the timer

will eventually ring telling
us dessert is ready. We’ll
dish it onto little plates
together and
return to our seats.
How to watch a friend die

Grab a cup of tea

and sit on the porch, notice rust
growing on your bike,
kids playing bubbles across the
street. How elaborate
this simple game has become; a
machine manufacturing bubbles, a dim roar
as kids dance in the giant bubble glory.
Make a mental note to buy WD-40

Go on a date.
Hell, go on several dates
Lower your standards and your neckline.
“Always in your neighbourhood, never his.”
Let him pay. Drink more than you should.
Let him tell you your ass looks good
in those jeans. Let him tell you
you’re hot. Listen to his life story.

They want this and need this. Be a good listener.

Go to a park and make out with these

boys way past midnight. Let them
kiss your breasts and hold you around the
waist with deft hands, let them walk you home.

The following morning, grab a cup of coffee

and sit on the porch. Call your friend and tell her you
made out down the street from where she lay and it was hot.
Tell her you followed her advice and she is right, it
really does just come down to tight jeans and listening
Buy a Simple Dress

Buy a simple dress. About two fingers above

the knee. Black sandals. Thin straps-thick heels.
Walk the dog in them. Pick up the mail in them. Stand
at the bus stop checking the time in them.

Accept a ride home with a colleague. Let him

tell you about his day. How the kids in his fifth
grade class are liars. Smile graciously. Let him
tell you about his new car, how he bought it with
Inheritance from his dad. Tell him
you are sorry for his loss.

Delicately Interrupt his story about

the jammed copier- your street
is coming up on the right. Cross
then uncross your legs. Tell him the copier
on the third floor jams a lot too.

Accept his offer to pick you up in the

morning- The train rolls out at 7:20-
Tell him you look forward to it. Tell
him you are sorry about the liars.