My husband's poetry

Author: cfblack

  • The grocery store is always open

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    by

    cfblack
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    In the magic hour between possum waddle and coyote strut raccoons feast on food left out for feral cats skulking along the fence line, Fourth of July fireworks two nights before fall equinox could be mistaken for gunfire, but sirens and blue lights do not arrive You push the trash can to the street and…

  • Overture to a space rock opera

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    by

    cfblack
    in

    I want to find a meteor half buried near the one pine cone squirrels have not yet torn apart in my backyard I want to hold it in my hand look for a shipping label to see whether it came from infinity or beyond I want to read the searing Spock left in the form…

  • Deep blue coffee cup

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    by

    cfblack
    in

    Dawn in the park Deep blue coffee cup You can’t remember Which grandchild gifted the cup And that’s okay Because you imagine each one 9-13-22

  • Water talk

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    a pond shares from deep within a river brings news from beyond the hill somedays, I much prefer a river it waves, calls out a greeting and moves on. 9-13-22

  • a one-sentence letter to my dead mother

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    cfblack
    in ,

    Dear Mom This morning, I watched birds flit and flutter about our yard, remembered your love of birds and decided that next spring, in your honor, I will ignore the childhood ear worms you implanted in my external auditory meatus canal and no longer will obsess about cleaning windows, because clean windows reflect sky and…

  • 21st century fairytale

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    cfblack
    in ,

    After the kiss of COVID dried on her face mask Sleeping Beauty’s eye lids fluttered open She looked into the lecherous eyes of Prince Retail, Rolled over and went back to sleep 9-12-22

  • meditation on current events

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    cfblack
    in ,

    Miss Piggy posed with her cleavage, her derriere and a giant green frog. Kermit puckered for the cameras; she looked away. Paparazzi called out Kiss it! Kiss it! Kiss it! again and again and again. She tossed him in the weeds and exclaimed, Prince Charming is a myth. 9-11-22

  • Parking lot civics

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    cfblack
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    Last night, I dreamed of the old man who used to rest his hand on my head while talking with dad in the parking lot after church. He lived in an old clapboard farmhouse where gravel turned to blacktop and subdivisions grew among the corn. Rooted in old settler stock, he ran for state legislature…

  • Contemplating a biking lifestyle

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    cfblack
    in

    Some days you think you might join a cycling club, take up riding a bike, again. But form fitting biking shorts make your butt look scrawny and your penis too small, Lycra pinches your testicles, Spandex jerseys slide up exposing your pot belly, and it’s hard to text while riding into a headwind. 9-10-22

  • untitled

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    cfblack
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    I want to live to be two hundred, hidden away in some old folks’ home, dragged out on my birthday to pose for social media. A dried up old prune nobody really knows; no cherished memories of me taking them for walks, candy in my pockets to share away from their mothers’ prying eyes. Just…