St. Pauli Girl

The arrowheads that I hunted as a child are gone.
Dug up,
plowed under,
paved over.

Today, kids scavenge through wet leaves
discarded Frito bags,
and the occasional used condom
("Is this a balloon?")
for bottle caps.

"Look, Mom!  I found a St. Pauli Girl!"

The American childhood just ain't what it used to be.

Fiction in 55 for my G-Man

I interviewed Coal Black at Real Toads today.  Don't miss it!

Deflowered

Petals

fall

my shirt

he loves me

my bra

he loves me not

my jeans

he loves me

my panties

he loves me not

leaving a stigma.

For the Wednesday Challenge at Real Toads

I'm interviewing Coal Black over at Real Toads.  Don't miss it!

Plainly

"Speak plainly, poet,"
you say with a laugh,
and my words fly
like startled birds
so I kiss you.

Once-
quickly-
before you can speak.
Twice-
deeply-
until we sink
to the ground together,

and our lips' simple couplet
says more
than a sky full of verse.

For Open Link Night at dVerse

This Page

This page is old,
worn,
torn,
and wrinkled.
Erased clean through in places.

This page leaves dirty socks on the floor
and dishes in the sink.

At times, my fingers itch
for the feel
of a fresh, clean sheet.

But, as long as my pen bleeds
the same old stories
turning the page is a waste
of paper.

For Open Link Monday at Real Toads

Empty Sky

You kissed me
and called it a star.
I wanted a constellation.

You brought me the moon
in a jar.
I cried for Saturn's rings.

Wrapped in the Milky Way,
I demanded the sun
to warm me.

You emptied the sky,
but couldn't please me.
Now, there's nothing left to bring.