A Stick of My Own

I take joy from my dog
running on ahead in search
of his gold – a stick to
take home. Once it is found,

he wonders why we linger
in the forest. I don’t worry
him by saying it is because I
am old and can no longer

keep up. No, I tell him I’m
looking for my own stick.
And always, he slows knowing
the importance of such a thing
as this.

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New York, New York

The corner market was drenched
in colorful tulips like soft jazz
for the eyes. Early mornings.
6am cool. Cheap umbrellas for
sale on the street when it rained.
Bagel and coffee. Cream. A little
sugar, sugar. Some leg. I grabbed
some tulips, and Mr. Marcone
shouted, “YELL-O, young lady!”
This was my favorite New York.

A Love Story For Burgess

All I could think was, That dog
passed away before I was born.
This love story, for me, is about
the dog. Who did the dog go
home to after each day’s shoot?
How many more years did he
live? Or was this his final film?
I sit through the credits, and
Rufus was played by Burgess.

Well, let me tell you, he did
a bang up job. Just stellar. I
think about Burgess on and
off. I have a dream that he’s
well-taken care of in heaven.
In the dream, Burgess catches
a Frisbee and returns it to a
man. Just some man. Could
be any man.