poetry

explaining hot dogs to Europeans

explaining hot dogs to Europeans

hot dogs
plump taut hot flesh
nestled in warm soft bread bun
studded with red (tomatoes) and white (onions)
and a ribbon of ketchup
(not toe-mat-oh sauce)
crack the sound of the bat
the waft of steam from the warm bath
from which they’re drawn
or the crisp black stripes of caramelized skin
the hot red sizzle and smoke of the grill
or the woodsmoke mixed with cedar duff
of camping in the northwest
the hot packet of meat comfortably warming your palms
on a cold spring Little League night
the sinful carnivorous pleasure
of the hot dog joint
in Boulder’s sanctimonious heart
Smith’s spicy thick hot dogs
a taste of my childhood
made by my neighbor/friend’s family for generations
Sara’s – the venerable greasy spoon at the peninsula
we’d brave the line then hurry
to mix hot dog, ice cream, soda, sand
with sun sinking into the lake
the first time I tasted a Hebrew National dog,
considering converting
spring training in Phoenix
watching the Cubs
learning from Chicago masters
to add tomato and onion

There’s nothing quite like an American hot dog
(if you’re American
and eat beef).

poetry

summoning a sea turtle

summoning a sea turtle

Dear Mr. Turtle
come fly underwater
with your solid scaled wings
and your fine gentle beak

soar over the coral
the triggerfish and wrasses
the brittlestars and clams

flap your flippers
and sail our way
to the three pale fish
who wait breathing anxiously
for your sweet arrival

Dear Mr. Turtle
please gift us with your presence
during this brief visit to your home
half a world away from ours
and we will hum you a lullaby –
all that we have to give
that might suit your watery ways

poetry

under mosquito netting

under mosquito netting

inside the sheer wisp of fine netting
each outside light goes stretched and starburst
until sleep lets us surrender
to a false sense of safety

we enter and our mindset shifts
waking >> sleeping
apprehensive >> accepting
everyday >> romantic
common >> exotic
exposed >> protected
(partially)

each time I tug one gap closed
another springs in its place
impossible to fully close out
jungle

poetry

September: Equinox

September: Equinox

an equinox with no pull of fall
this year there’ll be no
slowing-down shedding-time
no long inward-turning impulse

pictures of home bring yellow and reds
but more the sense we’re moving
at a different rate
to a different clock
not just 13 hours ahead
we’re in a time without seasons
without the rhythms our bodies know
chasing summer
while the people we love
watch for frost