At the After Work Event

standing in the back of the room
away from the buzz of networking
the chit chat and side glances
judging if I am worth talking to

here in theory
to meet people like me
but don’t see any
that are dreaming of poetry
and fire eating,
or worried about Nazis on the moon

spy a woman in black boots
and dream we elope
and leave this reception, this life
behind

sputter some more zombie work talk
drained glass, wet napkin in hand

leave as early as I can,
and savor the cold walk
alone

War Letter from a Long Summer

the hard heat

adds to the thrill

of being alive

stalking scorched streets

with cold-minded eyes

hardened

in the kiln

of too many voices

being that exception,

that warrior poet

standing alone,

is enough

to make us smile

in the blaze

of the hateful sun

The Workday Stray Way

Some way

that always loves a walk;

that spark of will

that lets us step away,

and nobly salvage

a scrap of our day

Gathering purpose

with every stride,

our covert rebellion

a source of pride.

Living for the journey;

For these moments are fleeting.

The fire stays alive

when the soul takes a beating. 

On the Peter Pan Bus

Peter Pan tosses us,

an early Friday escape

from the choking rush hour

Peter Pan implores, begs us

to claw our current selves

away

and be children again

but we decline,

eyeing sideways

the awkward smattering

of humanity

slicing down the American highway

in these two, too-slow hours.

Bring us, save us

oh Tower of Babel on wheels!

Somewhere among our cramped ranks

is a warrior poet

hurtling head-first

into glory.