i don’t want to get out of bed
and face the cold, foreboding wild
of this sunny spring day.
a walk to a pleasant lake
is just two blocks away
but i need to be sure i look ok.
to be down is to be alone
with nowhere to go but home.
so i waste away behind barred blinds,
my head buried in sand.
i check my email frequently
to see if i still exist,
if only in a broadband.
//wd 2.16.2026
Original photo by Tima Miroshnichenko on Pexels.com.
the poor
the needy
the starving children in
your city
do not want your
shrunken, crusty,
38-day past due remains
of sugar-free cotton candy
Sobeys,
unopened in transparent packaging
at the bottom of a dirty onion bin called
a hamper
looking like unsold Funkos of the villain from
Liv Tyler’s Armageddon:
an impulse Christmas gift if ever you’ve seen –
“but it’s better than drinking your own pee!”
putting to question how the homeless population,
lacking proper hydration,
gained access to Waterworld levels of hydro-filtration without
Federal intervention
when my working wife won’t even gift me
a Japanese home man-milking contraption.
no Sir.
this is why the Food Bank demands cash.
so do middle-schoolers whose lunch is a Quarter-Pounder.
maybe we should be more concerned with
the elderly percentile.
//wd 1.22.2026
Original photo by MART PRODUCTION on Pexels.com.
her back is to the separating wall,
left thigh over right
under the table at the unhappily married
middle-aged debutante ball,
long faces and all,
and instead of a trombone in her lap it’s her phone
and i’m not leering from around a beam.
this time.
what’s the use of this personification
except to hold on to it for later?
drooling through my pillow case at the open mystery
under those Lululemon Kirkland Signature duperies,
clasping fruitlessly to post-workout legs
like plastic cheese bricks to hot broccoli reeds
that, again, no one’s forcing me to eat
and being fun & flirty and platonic won’t do us good either
because you’re another non-native English speaker,
and i’ve changed little carnally in twenty-five years.
i’d much rather just non-verbally roll around on the floor
but it isn’t my middle-school Québec exchange anymore.
it’s life.
it’s life.
but apparently nostalgia’s all in at the mome.
//wd 1.5.2026
Featured image “Impression of ‘Lonely woman embracing body in morning’ by Alena Shekhovtcova” illustrated by the author.
when i’m on the clock,
i’ll talk back to a manager
no problem,
if i think it’ll get me anywhere
or not in trouble
or teased by female staff
but i won’t tell the guy
sitting in my reserved seat at the
movie theatre to
move over
please.
some words are too much trouble
for too little reward,
save my father and i getting
what we paid for.
he won’t say anything either.
//wd 12.20.2025
Original photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com.
the Universe
on occasion
needs to realize the limits
of humankind’s existence.
the drunk who calls his girlfriend
a cunt
is still getting the same horoscope
as you or i:
“today you may die,
but if you don’t,
the cosmos is on your side.”
what is that turning point?
giving her one about
moving on.
//wd 12.11.2025
Original photo by brenoanp on Pexels.com.
theory of a daskeman 