Eating Alone, a Funeral

What no one tells you in home ec or anyplace else, is that when you're an adult, you're going to have  a lot of trouble making dinner for yourself and eating it. Tonight, I opened the fridge. Could’ve had a salad, could’ve made my own dressing, could’ve put soup in a pot, stirred it up and got it hot. But, I couldn’t find it in me to cut a cucumber, let alone peel it (in stripes, like Mom did). It’s unbelievably hard to eat by yourself. Sure, there’s the trick of turning on the TV, loading CDs in the 5 Disc CD changer, and catching a glimpse of yourself in the microwave and saying "Hey, you..." But nothing ever escapes the feeling of eating alone. It's the black hole of your kitchen, stretching you until you snap apart at your weakest point. Just getting out one fork is like being at a funeral—but at the beginning, when you still won’t admit you’ll end up crying, but can feel it coming on.

 

 

Los Angeles Observations, Oct 26th

A 12 story apartment building

is getting a bath, and a homeless man

shuffles past without having showered in weeks.

Life is full of bad decisions.

Advanced Problems

1) If A = B, and B = C, then A = C

I think of you, 

and you don't think of me at all, 

it's getting creepy on my end. 

2) Sharon has exactly 6 quarters, 5 dimes, and 10 nickels in her pocket. She pulls out a coin at random and puts it aside since the coin is not a quarter. If she pulls out a second coin at random from her pocket, what is the probability that her childhood dreams are worth less than ten cents?

3) If Jim's penis is four inches long, and he leaves the train station at exactly 4:30 p.m., how many marbles does it take?

Every Time You Lick A Stamp, You Consume 1/10 Of A Calorie

And this was her excuse 

for never writing me. 

And to think, 

I drink beer

so I can write 

poems

and put them into bottles 

and throw them into the Pacific.

That's how many calories I'd consume

on the off chance

of reaching her.

Around Your 30th Birthday

Around your 30th birthday

you will discover that your body 

is not a temple.

 

It's a den

full of predators.  

And you'll be trying 

to make friends with them

the rest of your life.

 

Or, at least, trying to keep

them in a deep sleep

by sneaking quietly around

yourself

With Xanax and alcohol.

Maybe This Is Something

A young girl is systematically tearing the fur off her plastic pony leaving it a cheap looking black plastic mold of a pony.  She is at the DMV, seated a row in front of me and four chairs to the left. The horse was chestnut roan with a black mane and tail. Her father keeps getting up from his chair and pacing around and her mother is reading something. The girl only has the head left to do, but it looks like it's going to be hard because there are too many small contours to really get a good tear going. 

Totals

Whenever anyone I love dies

I stop and stare at the ground

and try to figure out a pattern.

How long I do this

depends on how much I love them. 

Once, someone I really really loved died,

--That's it. I said my goodbyes. I said my hellos. That's it.--

and I was trying to figure out 

how many total squares some triangles could make

when a woman wearing a tracksuit and big shiny hoop earrings

pushed her grocery cart into my my ass and said, 

Honey, either move forward or back.

California Dreamin'

We were holding hands walking right down the middle of Hollywood Boulevard.

The holding of our hands started to have it's own heart.

We looked down at where our wrists met, and there it was, beating, red and growing warm. 

Then you stopped to tie your shoe, and I had to hold the heart all by myself. 

It slid out of my hand like a fish, then turned into a kickball and started bouncing down the Boulevard. 

I ran after it, but each bounce got higher and higher. 

Pretty soon, I was at the rim of the Grand Canyon, and my father was being chased by a mountain lion.

I started to run after him, but a band of wild horses circled my mother. 

She was sitting on a foldable camping chair, shaking.

The horses were kicking and biting and closing in on her.

I had now had a rope.

I  tried to lasso them, but my teeth began falling out. 

I kept lassoing them, and collected my bloody teeth with the other hand,which turned into a sieve. 

Every time I yelled to her, I threw up bloody gravel,which used to be my teeth, and my sieve hand could only catch one or two pieces.

I worried that by the time I got to the dentist, I'd have nothing to give him.

One Definition Of Loneliness

 

One definition of loneliness

is learning that your favorite author,

the one you really understand,

the one you’re sure would’ve really gotten you,

the one that took your stupid happiness and your boring depression

and made you underline it -- even put a star or exclamation point next to it --

killed himself because he decided it wasn’t worth it.

 

His death turned a great writer into just a dead body in an instant

but was recorded as approximately

between the middle of September and October

 

because no one called or came over.

He rotted in front of a window for weeks

until a police man found him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Signs This Film Is Not Your Big Break

You auditioned in your bikini at La Salsa.

 

You’re the star of an updated version of Little Red Riding Hood and have fallen asleep while on the phone with the director, who is running through the script, when you’re startled awake by him saying, “…and then the wolf’s cock piercing gets caught on your tongue ring.”

 

The director comes to your house and takes a loud smelly dump in your toilet.

 

Your first scene is a night shot on someone’s roof. When you question why there are no lights, the camera operator asks if you think the 7-11 down the street has flashlights.

 

Your character breakdown is: A bitch that dies.

 

You’re at the director’s apartment sitting in front of a stiff pour of Jack Daniels and discussing the script when he tells you how much you remind him of Jodie Foster. On your way to the bathroom, you discover his Jodie Foster “room.”

  

You’re running around Griffith Park barefoot wearing a bed sheet and dumping fake blood on a man in his boxers.

 

The director folds your headshot into fours and puts it into his back pocket.

 

 

I'm In Love With You

I'm in love with you.

That's what I'm trying to say

when I say 

your girlfriend has a horse face.

Lonely Woman Transcribes Things She Hears A Lonelier Woman Say To Her Pomeranians

Get out here! You want to go for a walk? You want to or not?

 

Don’t you dare pee there! Bad doggie!!! You’re not…you’re not….you’re not paying attention to your mom!

 

Mama says you’ve been a bad boy. Come on, Honey. We’ve got stuff to do out here.

 

Where are my fucking papers. I can’t fucking find anything. I HATE MY LIFE!!!

 

C’mon Sadie, Isis, Elmo; let’s get this over with.

 

You wanna spank? Mamma’s gonna spank her little girl. No barksies!

 

Holy cow! I gotta open all those packages….see what I ordered. Usual thing -- I get all the presents, give ‘em away. Nobody gets me anything. Wow. C’mon, get in here, Sadie.

 

Sadie, quit! Someone’s going to end up with a big spanking. You know that, big boy? C’mon, let’s gosies.

 

Don’t stop at that corner cause I told you before, you’re going to get hurt. Fucking damn fool!

 

 

 

 

An Aviophobe’s Flight Manual

 

Place right palm on fuselage when stepping off Jetway and into the cabin.

 

Make certain to get an aisle seat in the back of the plane and memorize how many rows you are in either direction from an emergency exit.

 

Look around and consider whether your fellow passengers seem like people who would die in a plane crash.

 

Admit that anyone can die in a plane crash.

 

Begin drawing circles on you chest with your index finger when the plane’s engines rev for takeoff.

 

Continue making circles on chest as plane speeds down runway and add silent chants -- either “I’m not done, I’m not done, I’m not done…” or “I’ve got more things to do, I’ve got more things to do, I’ve got more things to do…”

 

Stop chants and circles when plane clears runway and ask yourself real quick if you are okay with your own death. Try to give an instinctual response, not an intellectual one, and try not to judge that response.

 

When the wing slats retract, look out closest window and mutter “Whatever happens happens.”

 

Funerals For Dummies

Do you have the ashes? 

Yes...No! I grabbed...wait, which Whole Foods bag are they in? 

Hold on, this is the wrong one.

Okay, here she is. Oh, here she is.......

A Stellars Jay lands on a bush, a car honks

Everyone goes to the bird feeder, so does the Stellars Jay

Is the camera on?

Yes, of course! He says irritated.

Well, it looks like you might have a branch in your way. 

She says slowly.

I don't! He says, having been married to her for 40 years. 

There is a branch.

She puts her hands inside and feels the small plastic bag.

Undoes the twist tie. Looks at the ground beneath the feeder. 

Her mother had laid her in her arms, took her to the doctor everyday to see if it was polio and if it would go away,

braided her hair. Here was: birdseed, cracked mud,

and was that dog poop five feet away?

She loved birds. Remember how much she loved birds?

She puts her hands into... ground up shells? 

She brings it up to her face. 

He has the lens cap on.

Hold on a sec...Okay, whoops. He frowns at the camera.

What do you mean "Whoops"?! This is my Mother!! Oh Gawd.......

Well, hold on, Jeez. I'm sorry, damnit!  

How do you turn this thing on?

She loved birds. Remember how much she loved birds?

What do you mean you "How do you turn it on!!!"

Okay, got it! Ready?

What!....On three?!

The bird has left the feeder. A feather fell off on it's way to the bush, but nothing else too bad happened.

One. Two. Three. They finally both say, mad and sad and a little loud.

Grey dust flies in the air. She remembers a picture of her 

as a toddler in Germany in tall boots you had to lace with hook.

Dust.

She looks down at the dry ground below the feeder, where all 

the birds she had loved so much all her life fed from, 

and the dust seemed to have disappeared. 

Maybe some was on her lip.

Then her husband, unwittingly starting the next stage of their lives, 

said: Wait a sec, why is this flashing?

She, feeling abandoned (in so many ways!!) suggested calling the kids. 

The Worst and Best Places and Times to Realize You Stepped in Dog Poop:

Worst: Right as you bend down to unlace your boot and put it in the bin to go through airport security and are tightly flanked by people on all sides.

Best: When you wish you had shoes to match your dog poop shirt.

Fact:

If you laid out a scale model of our Solar System so that it fit onto the Center Court at Wimbledon, with the Sun at one end and Pluto at the other, you need to find something else to do with yourself. 

Fire Sale!

Mortuary People, a Romance

They come into your house in business suits at 2:14 am. 

Of course you don't want to trust them,

or believe any of it. 

They glance around real quick at the living

to see if any of them are good looking.

Then they explain what the options are

for the dead. 

You look at the tile on the kitchen floor 

and try to figure out how many total squares there are.

When they walk into the back room,

you go sit in a chair and pull the draw stings

of your hoodie real tight around your face

and stare at the "Field Guide to the Birds Of North America."

When you hear them unfolding something metal,

you start writing down everything you know.

You picture them taking off the dead's

shoes and putting them down carefully on the floor

like rose petals for a bath--it's all part 

of their repertoire for romancing people to death.

You picture the toes of the shoes pointing toward 

each other.

Then, you hear them pull a zipper, 

and you concentrate real hard on those shoes. 

The left one says Now what?

The right one says I guess we don't have to go on those hikes anymore.

The left one says I guess it just comes down to this.

In unison they say Just us shoes.

You remember every time you said you didn't have time 

for a hike.

Missed Connections

Where are you? 

It's me, your stalker. I can't reach you

with my words or by throwing bark chips

at your window. Need to connect with you!

I've tried watching you in a different light,

but the bushes always seem to be in the way.

You looked so pretty doing your laundry 

and dropping that DVD into the mailbox. 

God, it's going to be hard to commit suicide

outside your house when I used to be able 

to do it inside.

Missed Connections

You

Always: Brown hair and eyes and lies,

told me you never wanted to be with me

that way. Actually, you said it looking

into my eyes at Lake Tahoe, after we 

both agreed we understood why people

wanted to keep it blue. I guess we only

agreed on one thing. But, still, love for

you grew stupidly in me like a tree

planted in a temporary pot. I'm the dumb

housewife who didn't know you needed 

space to get roots to get something at all.

You just looked so good in my door, 

I didn't have that kind of time.

And when you came back around,

I've pictured our wedding. I've pictured

how you'll yell at me when we're old,

a new branch launched green forgiving

into my gut. Every new geometry of living

with you flowering with your slight touch:

Pulling me back from traffic.

Demonstrating on my shoulder 

how she touches you in public.

You hate it. You brush an eyelash

off my cheek.