just below the surface

just below the surface 


95% of the people I meet 

are more than a little like me;

for instance,

take Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde 

in this line behind me,

“Sir, do you have the time?”

Betty Crocker in one hand,

the other holds Duncan Hines,

panting he mimes, 

“Would you mind? 

I’m trying to decide between lemon or lime,

but this fucking cake mix 

doesn’t list its glycemic index 

and you expect me 

to manage this

with a mind 

like mine?” 

I turn to face the register kid

and there is

no checkout divider 

between the mad man’s groceries and mine,

“Sir is this shiv 

yours 

or his?”

A weapon out of its sheath,

sticks and stones break bones,

but words are George Washinton’s cherry tree:

cunning, cutting, cunty; 

“Wait, how’d that get there?”

“SECURITY!”

“What?” I ask.

“I said,” he responds.

“‘Would you like to bag for me?’”

“Paper will work fine.”

But plastic is on my mind

when this imagined world 

comes back to reality

with these goddamn fall allergies.

A countdown and a beep,

surrounded by end caps

and a Halloween tree,

have you seen it 

or was that just an impulse buy by me;

seasons blur

as I think about what my best moments

look like to her.

Paddy Cake baker chose a life line 

and called a friend, 

“If you had to pick 

one mix,

which one would you get?”

But, E.T. can’t phone home 

when he’s forgotten where he lives;

“Would you like to sign up for a red card?”

Mr. Hyde is too loud and drowns out

the last sentence of this mumbling kid.

I ask, “Did you just say, ‘Home is where the heart is.’”

“I said, ‘5% discount is what it gives.’”

“Oh, I already have one.”

But, I know perfectionism 

is no place to live.

That smell of the KFC/Pizza Hut combination

is liable to make me sick;

my luck, there’s a Starbucks,

a little caffeine and I’m touched,

The Creation of Adam by DaVinci,

“God,

do you believe?”

Outside a shopping cart 

lands on the moon,

Neil Armstrong 

when autumn is in bloom

not to notice 

the beauty right in front of you;

What, with any luck,

we get 80, maybe 90 years,

and the triviality of time

can on occasion

become overwhelming,

but when you can see

what they see

divinity becomes a possibility;

and would you guess who 

parked right beside me?

“Which cake mix did you get?”

Dr. Jekyll looks up from his car

with a lisp, “Both.”

Previous
Previous

cutting down that tree

Next
Next

fall air on summer skin