New Poems!

Date with a New York girl

She talked with her hands. Long black
hair bounced in a ponytail, as she picked
her words carefully through a mouthful of
pie.

How can she expect me to hold that gaze?
That big hazel gaze: her eyes get to
wander during her turn at conversation,

but mine are supposed to stay focused, not shifty,
drifting off to watch lips sucking cola through a
straw.

You and me both

The fire drill has doomed us all. More
often than not, it’s just a test. Odds
are we don’t burn to death and

no one wants to look the fool.
I don’t smell smoke; stay sitting
sweetie.

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