Obsessive Researcher

I am always trying to figure out how to do things faster and more efficiently. Even though I consider myself to be old now I’m still working on the efficiency routine. I should have a clipboard and a pencil and a list of things to accomplish however I have nothing but two dogs that I need to feed and a house that seems to be constantly needing attention. I noticed this morning that rather than making oatmeal and putting egg whites in it I could take a hard boiled egg and chop it up and put it in the oatmeal prior to microwaving it and in that way I would save myself so much trouble because I already had hard boiled eggs in my fridge. So I plopped the hard-boiled egg cut up into the bowl of raw oatmeal and added milk and half-and-half because I am a sybaritic woman and turned it on for two minutes. Then I removed it from the microwave and luckily I was wearing my glasses because the entire thing exploded like a bomb in my kitchen. They were literally bomb fragments on my ceiling made of hard boiled egg. If I hadn’t been wearing my glasses I don’t think my eyes would’ve survived. When this happened it made such a loud noise that I literally shrieked something I haven’t heard myself do ever in my life. I backed away from the microwave with caution thinking it might happen a second time and I had a long debate with myself over whether or not I should eat the oatmeal despite the fact that it had exploded.

 

This is the problem with being an obsessive researcher and an analyst. When unusual things happen 

You stop and think about why did they happen and try to understand what the result of this happening was and what you should do to avoid this in the future.

 

It’s pretty obvious what I should do to avoid this in the future. It was still pretty damn exciting. In my kitchen an explosion that sounded like a 28 gauge shotgun going through the ceiling and all it was was a remnant of a hard boiled egg. That’s my day!

 

 

 

Car Wash 1

Just as I was trying to keep my front tires in alignment on the slightly rickety, vibrating tracks of the car wash I felt my passenger door open and a splash of warm water on my arm and saw a curious pair of smokey eyes in the face of a man of unknown age but of great beauty. I reached over to touch his cheek and wipe some of the water away and he pulled my hand to his ear. “Touch my ear!” (but not in English) he said and electrically we slid through the rinsing and sudsing and and finally the great blowing which opened his door and though he grasped my finger, the baby one, he was sucked out of the car and into the blower and then I was outside and raring to go.

Virus

Child’s Game

“Hold your breath!”

passing a graveyard we said

In the back seat of a 57 Ford

gravely

acknowledging the dead.

Now, out walking, I hold

my hand over my mouth

careful to not breathe in

air of living people

passing.

Dinner

Light the candles, dim the lights, serve the good wine, make people laugh, tell them to go home after 2 1/2 hours, go to bed, drink water, pet your dogs, Dream of passion.

Water

 

No Safe Place 2

Water      

 

Water,

wet, moist ,damp, soggy,

only a lost commodity .

When I first tasted your skin

it was covered in water.

Remember water?

It was hard to describe but it was free.

Lakes are craters now.

A child asks “Who pulled the drain plug?” as

you drive by the empty, barren memory of a

lake. T

There is deep sadness in the retreating

water leaving a reluctant

path of tears sinking into the dust,

searching for an oasis to nourish, water

looks down

and sees it’s vanishing.

Cries out to the lone red bird

perched on a burnt tree,

cries out to the cactus who needs no one,

cries out to

you and me who have forgotten water

already.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Last Night I Saw My Friend Vanish

Last night no one knew if it was

the sun setting or the moon rising

but it was orange: hung there by a

wire moving around our sky, currents

of warm air lifting and lowering its round

shape enough to light the narrow, soft roads

crisscrossing the sandy summer peninsula.

One young woman pushing her

old cruiser bike silently, leaving Book Club late after

a chat about amphibians, taking the

long way home, blond hair falling in a

triangle down her back, white Keds glistening,

she thinks of fall when everyone will be gone

and suddenly there in the mist she becomes

invisable except for the sound of one repentant

bicycle spoke grinding it’s rhythm until she’s home.

This Afternoon

I like young old men.

Men whose twinkle never faded like some

lust or the memory of really good vanilla ice

cream. I like the round muscle of their arms,

the temptation of golden skin,

and the quick way they look at me for

what seems like a long time while we are

kissing. Each time I open my eyes there

is that gaze, eyes so clear and full of intent.

I don’t know what to do with that gaze.

It never varies. I’m so unused to direct

and constant I’m checking it, closing my

eyes and then quickly opening them again

like a child thinking it will be gone. The kiss

goes on and on like undulating waves in

a warm climate with hopeful palm trees

that clap their fronds for any passion seen

below.

I think it’s over but something like

one finger on my cheekbone

begins the spiral again.

It would not be sensible to want this

on a regular basis but everyone does.

Desire and to be desired.

We all wait.

A remembered afternoon in summer.

Maybe

 

  Soon Enough

 

It is dark nearly all of the time.

People have forgotten the feel of water.

Lifetimes have shortened

Partners are assigned

The dictionary has been revised.

So many words no longer exist,

Joy, Hope, Heart ,Listen, Compassion,

Friendship, Cookie, Sunshine, Language

Touch

The past disappeared so rapidly that

history

Forgot to transcribe itself.

There are no more Buddhists.

It’s tomorrow.