Tuesday, November 12, 2013


“Who’s That Flirtin’ with the Coach?”

     It’s the potential I’m in love with
     when I sleep with someone new.
                                    —Alex Dimitrov

I never had a thing for professors, teachers,
or coaches.  Starting when I was about
seven I always brought along a few books
to read.  Including, now that I just sit here
waiting (I know this part already), My
Hand Keeps Cramping Up and I Want
to Hug the Brick Sidewalk on Market.

It’s rainy with a few low-flying airplanes.
I love this city.  Especially its mornings.
Especially when cool and crisp.  Especially
when I take advantage of the entire page.
It is well worth the sixteen dollars and
fifteen cents.  I presume that’s the most
I’ve ever spent on one, but I’ll keep you
posted.  Feeling lost

I unholster my phone.  Remember un-
holstering phones?  I think I’ll start
with poker first.  I say “poker” – just
a little bit louder than a whisper.  Then
maybe a couple of rounds of bingo.
I just got into a dumb tizz, so am trying
to calm down.  This is the way it always
works with me.  I begin to know these

things.  I am beginning to know things.
Just as soon as I remember something,
I’ve forgotten it again.  It’s the morning
of a new day, as if the dawn of a new
era.  That picture of you yawning with
my family.  The you.  The family.  It’s
always the same thing.  Easy off.  Easy
on.  Easy in.  Easy out.