October 4
The pink carbon copy
says I now own a gym
membership (I think).
I can’t read it
or the yoga class schedule,
but no matter.
I can swing a dumbbell
and hit the up arrow
on the treadmill.
I speak gym.
October 23
How lucky
to find dice
in your pillow.
How lucky
to find marbles
on the stairs.
How lucky
to meet a friend
after so much
indifference.
November 1
The glue police confirm
nothing binds like love
of ornamental fish.
December 6
If Buddha were here
he would tell you
the problem is not
with the internet,
but with your mind.
Technological hiccups
teach patience and priorities.
December 15
Ok.
I rose at 6:00,
rode a foggy bus for an hour,
shivered through breakfast in a cafeteria
all to listen to your 2-minute
impromptu speech.
Since you failed to attend,
I’ve spent 12 hours
discussing your grade.
All you had to do was roll out of bed.
I see where I went wrong.
December 16
Outside of Christendom
an iced reindeer cookie
on a coffee shop shelf,
a gaudy tree
in front of the mall
don’t make up
for the callous way
you assume
I’ll work
on Christmas Eve
without time-and-a-half
and an apology.
December 18
I don’t know the names of birds
in the tree outside my window,
or that glean in the bushes
by my classroom.
But as I walk by the campus lake,
I’m overtaken
by the nostalgia of ducks.
Alien Buddha Press 