Three poems

What Changes

Before the ten o’clock HBO show

with Bill Maher bait and switching

his guests, spewing inflammatory rhetoric

astounding us liberal viewers in a comic way,

probably not even seen by the other side,

our host mixes up whiskey, sweet vermouth,

bitters, fills our half-full glasses with Meiomi

Pinot Noir as his wife flicks the fire starter,

powers up a freshly packed bowl, after breakfast

at the place we always go in Barnstable, after

an interlude of Tom Petty, Joni Mitchell, ZZ Top,

a mélange of hit makers from the seventies and eighties,

after a beach run with a cooler of iced-down Tecates,

homemade chicken salad, Cape Cod potato chips,

after three splendid hours soaking in Nantucket Sound

at their friend’s house on Squaw Island, after the sun

reaches a zenith, dusk settles in, though greenheads

have a mind of their own, after dinner at a local

sports bar where noise exceeds quality, and our ears

yearn for relief, we’re on leather chairs and a couch

with our friends of forty years in an air-conditioned

room, drinking another round, passing the pipe,

talking of all those changes in our lives.


in memory of Louis McKee

I’ve traveled city streets, four highways,

eight hours forty minutes to the University

at Buffalo The Poetry Collection. When I arrive

I’m taken to the archives where my poetry choice

is bundled and arrives on a tray set up especially

for me. Outside air is filled with moisture, droplets