Poems.

The Mercy Rule

the thing is with losing
by seventeen
in the third
you’re still fifteen
your mother faithful
in the stands
does not lose hope
comes off the bleachers
like a pit bull
at a bad call
or cat call 
there’s always a team
somewhere you can beat
a shower to rinse the loss off
the maybe boyfriend
who calls
says you’re faster
than anyone he knows
And then there’s the mercy rule
that says nothing should last
so long if it’s painful like
ballgames or boyfriends

Untitled

I’ve taken out the Christmas tree
and stood by the window for hours
an ornament in hand
the void of joy
filled by more coffee
the photos from Aleppo screaming
from the screen
the small children in hallways
stripped of everything human
except fear
They’ve taken out the Christmas
discarded, tossed
and not thought of again

Near The Latin Quarter

There is something about crème caramel
the way it sits shimmering in a pretty dish
the mystery of the blow torched sugar
carmelized to a shell
the underlying occupation
of the custard below
how they meld together
that you’re eating it
at a sidewalk café in Paris
in the Latin Quarter
almost lost by the taste
and careful savoring each
tiny sliver of meaning holds
until the beautiful Parisian woman
walks by rolls her eyes in disdain
when she catches your stare
flips her hair back and moves away
from the careless American
with caramel lips