Promise To Whisper

We’re living like strangers
In a house with thin walls

Loose change on the nightstand
Dust in the corner of our eyes

Let’s pause our devices
Put the kids to bed

Go downstairs quietly
And count our blessings

Let’s touch the things
We love the most

The things we’ve broken
The things we refuse to fix

Holes in the hearth
Cracks in the ceiling

Let’s share a bottle of wine
Shake the dust from our eyes

Admire the mess we make
Each day of our beautiful lives

You say come with me
I’ll say come for me

If you promise to whisper
Come here and make me

What I Do For A Living

I help hoarders find Jesus.

I’m a tree surgeon looking to branch out.

I’m a Charlie Brown impersonator. Call me Chuck.

I’m a good grief counselor. I charge five cents.

I import exporters.

I encourage mimes to speak their minds.

I make magicians disappear.

I tell jokes on TV. I keep it clean. I swear.

I’m a bad plumber but a great lover. My wife is always wet.

I’m a hoarse whisperer.

I inspect library books for double meanings and cross them out.

I count census workers.

I sell luxury clown cars. Draw blood. Pound sand. Raise cranes.

I’m a stay-at-home cad.

I greet Walmart customers in my Target uniform and say welcome to Kohl’s.

I’m an unforeseen event planner.

I cry Wolf Blitzer and shout fake news.

I’m a poet. The pay sucks. I sing the blues.

Above A Whisper

I walk on blades of grass
around my father’s grave,
avoiding sunken markers,
careful not to wake
the dead.

I want to say
I found a teaching job,
my own apartment,
a patient woman
who loves me
as I am.

But if such things
still happen,
they haven’t happened
to me.

When I tell him it’s spring
and Vegas likes our Cubs
to win the World Series,
my voice breaks like mist
above a whisper too soft
for sparrows perched
on marble headstones
to hear.