Tag: life

maid yourself

A poem.

my problem has always been

in the
execution.

the execution.
touching it up again and
can’t leave it alone,
critical of the tone
again,
it’s that execution.

keeping it up with poor health
poor people
poor job,
poor me –
one thing slips and
that cascading effect is a
direct result
of
poor execution.

poor contributions.

no waving.
not that guy in shades staking claim at the
smokers’ pit again,
or the shady area in front of the recycling.
i’ve had forty years to perfect the act
of blowing it totally
in the execution.

the execution.
and i like to sin.

it makes me feel good

feel something when i know i’m not winning,
easier than pulling myself back up
to simply submit,
walk away with the neighbours coming

than to execute.

//wd 7.2.2026

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a flotilla of teenaged seagulls

chasing a bald eagle away from a fry

A poem.

when life’s going a little too Disney,

there’s always something there to
fuck it up completely.
navigating that storm makes
me take stock
of what i could possibly be paying penance for


or karmic retribution

or shitty luck

but mostly i blame divine justice –
you know the kind: the overfed,
bearded White guy in a smock staring back in the mornings
through the dinge of acne glazing

and not some omniscient force.
nurture can be nature at its worst.

//wd 4.30.2026

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A&B Sound, Boxing Day ’96

A poem.

a bald spot,
some weight –
still the same.


same-ish.
enough to have a moment in line.

enough to actually watch the clip show
they usually skip from season twenty-one
as their memory rewinds.
they’re dodging peripherals from behind:
a behind they once knew better blind

but they don’t really want to catch up
if it is,

nor they them
they’re assuming,
after the decision both were ruminating:
that neither wanted to wipe the other
in either’s autumn monogamy.

oh hey, what’s changed?
a bald spot,
some weight,

overall still the same.

//wd 4.27.2026

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broadband

A poem.

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

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food insecurity is gut-wrenching

(not losing a celebrity chef surprise)

A poem.

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

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