Category Archives: Poetry


In the alley

Behind our flat

The old man walks.

He leans heavily between two canes,

One a blue broom, one a brown mop handle.

His winter-killed eyes signal their shoe button salutations.

Aquarius is too cold to bed with;

His water freezes in his well-balanced buckets.

I keep my eye on him

From inside the window where I wait

Feeling widowed by the ice inside.

The sparrows teem around him,

Like soap bubbles blown from a pipe.

It’s Valentine’s Day

And the old man’s saliva freezes into stalactites

As piercing as thorns. ††

When winter dies I will weep for him

One blonde diamond.

I study him from the window,

Unbeknownst to me,

In training for a part of his drama,

Cast finally as the bag lady of hearts

Which will become my stock and trade.