For a Mother

Listening to my mother
makes me understand.
Hearing mom
sounds like music.
Mothers make sons
into something more
than just boys and teenagers.
Mothers are more
than just parents
and best friends.
When I think of mom,
I attempt to feel
how it must feel
to be loved like that.
As sons grow
from grade school to college,
I only hope that they understand
how mothers are smiling
with their boys.
All I know in my life
is that I want to be like her.
I want my kids,
as a father,
to know that I love them.
I want every child
to feel the depth of love
my mother has given me.
They need to feel that.
They should want that.
Children,
like the adult I am today,
deserve a love like that.

Couch Comfort

They say anger is a gift.
It is.
Ignorance.
I like when you ignore me.
Actually, I prefer it.
That way I can feel something normal.
Turn off your phone.
Let me sit,
back against the couch,
and think about you with me.
There is the hope of happiness.
I am hopeful of smiles
with you
But you won't happen.
In my world,
I want you for you.
Sitting here now,
with my spine along the pillows,
you have no place in the world.

Bearing Down the Bottle

I am so sick of you
as my daily routine.
Waking up with my own fingerprints
framed frozen along your bottled body
breaks this alcoholic heart of mine.
You come grinning out of the freezer.
Knowing what I know,
I grab you by your fragile neck,
drink and dive right back down
into my own
fucked up habit.

Jukebox

We are our best
when the night comes to a close.
Bar bus boys hang in the towel
with the jukebox still playing
my two quarters.
Our hands hold tight
as the boys across the room
watch us kiss.
We sip house whiskey,
laugh like children do,
and smile back.
The jukebox retires.

Sliding

The grandfather clock
slides its way past 6 a.m.
Outside, garage doors open
and shut.
Front porch lights
make their way to bed
while the rest of us stretch
and move our sleepy bones.
School children bumble along sidewalks.
The sun casts shapes
of backpacks and bodies
onto the corners of every street.
A swell of geese above our roofs
creates a clever chatter that bounces
from house to house.
Every morning,
It is as if Earth wakes up with us
to this magical parade of life and light.
As the sunlight fingers
its way through the wooden blinds,
I thumb the sleep from my eyes,
smile, and let the light
slide in.