Big Ass

Big ass SUV
to carry big ass man
with his big ass kids
to his big ass home
with a big ass mortgage
and a big ass pool
that distracts you
from his big ass
insecurity

and his big ass wife
wears a big ass ring
on her big ass finger
to show all her
big ass friends
the kind of big ass
love this big ass
man has for her

and they eat in
their big ass dining room
with lots of big ass
space between them
and their big ass kids
who want very little to do
with big ass mom and dad
because they have their own
big ass concerns waiting
for them
in their big ass rooms
each equipped with a big ass
big screen tv

and the big ass son has a
big ass truck
and the daughter has a big ass
tattoo just above here
big ass big ass

and they're all in a
big ass hurry to
get to the next big
ass thing
that they think will soothe
the disturbing and unsettling
big ass questions in their souls

so the next time I see
the big ass overfed and
well to do
flaunting their big ass
out of control
desire

I’ll be thankful
for my modestly placid
small
world.

[Posted for Listen to This: Anaphora at dversepoets.com - come along and have some fun!]

The Welcome Speech

Just sit there.
you’re new here, so listen up.

I don’t awaken easily
and I hate staying awake.

If you must ask questions
make sure they’re well thought out.

Don’t waste my time
and keep your hands off my stuff.

Remember
there’s just two of us in this cell

and the guards
are down the hall and sometimes deaf.

Don’t ask why I’m here
and I won’t ask why you’re here,

and when I get up
I get to use the toilet first.

I’ve been here
longer than you’ve been alive

so don’t think
you’re the boss in here.

Out there
you might’ve been some badass

but in my world
you’re just a new fish.

I’m holding back
more hate than you’ll ever feel,

so don’t get in my way
and I’ll treat you more fair than most,

and if you’re smart
you won't let me see you cry.

I really hate
people who can still cry.

She Deserves Poems

She deserves poems
and days of unhurried contentment
in the company 
of someone who brings
warmth and safety and joy,

and she deserves
a flight through the clouds,
climbing up to the sun
floating on pink balloons
and soaring past ordinary birds
jealous of her natural grace.

I would give her moments 
of perfection
lightly dipped in chocolate
polished and wrapped 
in honeyed cellophane.

I would give her
beautiful moments,
asleep beside her
praying that my adoration
was sweetening her dreams
and that my embrace
would melt away 
every single fear
so she could 
rest
selfishly - just sleep
and not worry about 
anyone or anything else.

She deserves dreams
that don't end 
when she awakens

and a dance
lively enough to be joyful
and slow enough to be romantic
to a tune 
that only she 
could inspire.

The things she inspires
are flavors and flowers
-so irreplaceable
so perfectly her.

She deserves to see herself
as I see her.

She deserves to be overcome
with blinding ardor.

She deserves a really great guy
and she deserves a poem
that captures her essence
and her beauty
a lot better than this one 
did.

Male Socialization (for Roy Levosh)

Don’t oversleep
don’t curse the alarm clock
don’t wake up the others

don’t go to work without shaving
don’t wear that tie with those pants
don’t leave without kissing her goodbye

don’t drive like a maniac
don’t get in an accident
don’t be late to the office

don’t be unproductive
don’t go to non-work-related websites
don’t daydream about sex

don’t skip lunch
don’t eat any trans fats
don’t talk to any other guys at the urinal

don’t be unprepared for your meeting
don’t tell your boss what you really think
don’t leave until after the boss does

don’t forget to call and ask if she needs anything
don’t bring your work home with you
don’t ignore the kids

don’t take it out on the kids
don’t fight it if she wants to take a walk after dinner
don’t hog the remote

don’t go to bed without taking a shower
don’t forget she needs foreplay
don’t knead her breasts like dough

don’t come too soon
don’t come before she does
don’t roll over and fall asleep as soon as you’re finished

don’t fall asleep if she wants to talk
don’t leave the tv on all night
don’t forget to say your prayers.

[Posted for #MeetingTheBar - List Poetry @www.dversepoets.com - where poetlove floweth freely!]

Print Me Out

Print me out
and hold me in
your tender hand
because even though
I was made on
a computer
I was born of a person
and his soul
is embedded
between the blank space
and the letters.

Print me out
and carry me
in your back pocket
as you climb high into
your secret tree
where you write
your poetry and
daydream ‘til dusk
and then
when you come home
unfold me
and set me beside
your bowl of soup
to remind you
that I am here.

Print me out
and fold me
into an airplane
and send me sailing
to a bored classmate
across the room.

Print me out
and tack me up
with a magnet
on your refrigerator
and when you’re
reaching for the milk
tomorrow morning
know that I have
been here
waiting for you.

Print me out
to remind yourself
that I am more than
just paper and words,
I am real.

I am flesh and bone
sadness and glory,
but when you read me
I am no longer alone.

Print me out
and save my life.

[Posted for #Meetingthebar at www.dversepoets.com - my pals in verse out in the universe]

Tersely

She got up
and said

“It’s not working.”

I laid there
in naked humiliation

and she left,

taking with her
three years
of my life

and her vibrator.

[Posted for MamaZen's challenge at http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2013/05/words-count-with-mama-zen.html]

The Welcome Speech

Just sit there
you’re new here, so listen up

I don’t awaken easily
and I hate staying awake

if you must ask questions
make sure they’re well thought out

don’t waste my time
and keep your hands off my stuff

remember
there’s just two of us in this cell

and the guards
are down the hall and sometimes deaf

don’t ask why I’m here
and I won’t ask why you’re here

and when I get up
I get to use the toilet first

I’ve been here
longer than you’ve been alive

so don’t think
you’re the boss in here

in the other world
you might’ve been some badass

but in my world
you’re just the new fish

I’m holding back
more hate than you’ll ever feel

so don’t get in my way
and I’ll treat you more fair than most

and if you’re smart
don’t let me see you cry

I really hate
people who can still cry.

Do That

In the 11th grade
he wanted to be loved
or invisible
but he was stuck
somewhere in between.

He failed another
algebra II test
and stood there
in the stairwell
as the flood of students
rushed around him.

He dreaded his fate:
“Pop’s going to be mad.
He’ll think I’m a bum.
How am I ever going
to get anywhere in life?
And what the hell’s
the square root
of -1?”

A disembodied voice
came up from behind:
“Don’t worry about that.
That’s not who you are,
a numbers guy.
You’re a writer.”

It was Erica.
They were just friends
as she was too tall
to be anything else.
She must’ve seen his grade.

“I remember that poem
you showed me.
You’re a writer.
Do that.”

Continuing down the stairs
she passed by
and out of sight
unaware of the fire
she’d lit.

Right there
he rearranged everything
in his life
and set out to be a writer.

He wrote
plays
songs
jokes
poems
screenplays
articles
love letters

and it comforted wounds
preserved victories
reified dreams
and it gave him
a place in this world.

So,
Erica Falk
if you Googled
your name,
and found this poem

please know

David says
“Thank you.”

Mysterious Spanish Blanket

Among my earliest memories
is the sound of your voice
and even though I didn’t know
what you were saying
I understood.

It was the tone
of your voice:
whiskey brown
soft and aged,
every bit of its character
hard-earned.

Lost in your warm
all-consuming
fleshy embrace,
love spoke volumes.

You raised my father
and everyone else
on sopas abondigas and care,
simple banquets
where the cuisine wasn't elegant
but it was regal
and opulent with laughter and comfort.

Though I was top student
in my high school Spanish class
I still spoke as a
halting, awkward immigrant
when visiting your home
in East Los Angeles
but I always understood.

In the years of my absence
I held on to your gift:
love interwoven in that
mysterious Spanish blanket
you wrapped around me.

You had stories to tell me
but in the ten years
since your repatriation to Heaven
the silence is more poignant.

Grandma Trini,
I rarely understood
your words
but your voice
transcended
translation.

The Problem with Some Christians

The problem with some Christians
is that they want
to follow Jesus
without doing what He did.

They have not studied
the Hebrew Bible
because they forgot
Jesus never read
the New Testament.

Some cannot even agree
on which translation of
ten commandments
to follow
much less
the 613 mitzvot
they are supposed to keep.

They idolize
the writings of Paul
a different Jewish iconoclast
who lowered the bar
in the name of
The Great Commission.

Their response to
Pharisaic ritualism
is to have no rituals
at all.

The problem with some Christians
is they forget
their savior is a Jew.