Early March 2005

OUR DAUGHTER IS WAY SICK

Jo Jo crusty nose,
rough coughing (sadly) away;
lethargic, soft sack
of baby.

FATHERHOOD: AN EXERCISE IN FATIGUE

I am a dry husk,
throw me into the compost.
Food for worms; just that.

$ CAN BRING YOU HAPPINESS

Money drains my blood.
My hair, like coins, dropping down.
It buys me nothing.

WOE IS ME

I have no social
life. I sleep, clean, do laundry,
fill up the gas tank.

BLOOD DRAWN (I’M NO DIFFERENT)

My wife never sleeps.
She is like a vampire.
Day comes; she slogs through.

THE GARBAGE DISPOSAL HAS DIED

Disposal pops out–
hole in the sink, goes nowhere.
Emmy thinks it’s neat.

And No Teeth

Say Bye, Jo says Hi.
Come or go, you get a smile
with soft, wet, rolled, tongue.

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