CLEANING WINDOWS

As I left the house and
walked towards my car, I
waved to the man across the
street. He was up a ladder,
cleaning windows.

And we both saw, too late, his
youngest daughter run into the
street, and we both saw the
car clip her, hit her, hurt her,
maybe even kill her.

"No," I thought. "That's not right.
Not while he's cleaning windows."
So I stepped back inside my house
and closed the door.

This time, when I came out, I
ran across the road and held
the girl's arm until the speeding
car had passed.

My neighbor waved his thanks, and
I asked him if I could get him
anything while I was out. "I don't
think so," he said. "But thanks
for the thought."

FISH FACE

To many of his friends with
body modifications, Malcolm's
latest change was viewed as
extreme, to say the least.

He'd had his eyes moved
from his face to the sides of
his head, midway between each
ear and cheekbone.

As his best friend told him,
"Malc, that's way too weird. You
look like a fish in a suit with
lace-up shoes."

Another friend, from a safe distance,
cried out "Malcolm, you're a
fish out of water now! No doubt.
No doubt at all!"

Untroubled, Malcolm accepted an
invitation from a popular late
night TV host. "We'd love to have
you on our show!"

Settled on the couch on stage,
Malcolm turned his head to see a
lady in the audience hold up a card
which read, "We love you fish boy!"

The host was not so kind, and
mocked him from the get go. "For
goodness sake, you can't even see
what's in front of your face! What
do you say Malcolm? What do
you say to that?"

Malcolm said, "You see what everyone
else sees, I see what rushes by you,
unnoticed, every day.

I see through the walls of the narrow
channel of your life and catch a
million moments that you miss.

I see the people and the lives you
ignore, all because you think you
know where you are going."

The host laughed, and winked at the
audience. His show, his laugh. "Sounds
fishy to me, Malcolm! Ha ha ha!"

FUNNY FACES

my girlfriend makes funny faces
high drama
shakespearean
enough to make
you laugh and laugh

unless you catch a funny
face at an awkward moment
when your thoughts are far
away in time or place
and then...

and then you'll find yourself
in London, 1666, with 6,000 dead
each week from the plague, and
a toothless man on the edge of town
making funny faces at the moon and
God, and trying to get the joke.

or at Aunt Mary's birthday
when she makes a funny face for
the camera, and you suddenly remember
the day she buried her twins.

and then you shake your head and
bring it home so you can smile and
laugh at the funny faces your
babies made when you tried to
feed them solid food, for the
first time.

and those funny faces make you
laugh and laugh and laugh.

AN ENEMY OF SONG

He stepped off the bus,
his guitar broken at the neck.

A mother and child walked by.
"That's a pity," said the child.

Later, a waitress poured him coffee.
"What happened?' she asked.

"In every bus," he said
"There is an enemy of song."

She sat down and touched his hand.
"But I'm listening to you now."

THE LATE PAYER

it was going to be a good day, money coming in
over the wire from a late payer.

money atoms flying through the early morning
in perfect formation, to settle later
in five figures at my bank.

but as the atoms flew I was sitting on the john,
oblivious, and irritated to find that the paper roll
was down to its last few squares.

I hate that...finishing one roll and having to start
a fresh one at a single sitting. I much prefer it
when the the roll ends with a decent handful.

irritated, reaching for the second roll, oblivious
to the happy sound of money singing on the wire.

my big, fat roll of money.

MY PERFECT FRIEND

The small boy stumbled
as he passed the lilac, its
slim branches reaching
across the garden wall to
the sidewalk close beside.

And Margaret gasped, hand
at her mouth, and said,
"Oh my, I hope he comes
back soon." Because she
saw how the lilac stretched
itself to touch the boy,
but missed him by an inch.

And she knows, and has told
me often, how the lilac
turns its back to the man
with the strident walk who
lives in anger one street
down. "Tell me," she said,
as I added sugar to her tea,

"What will become of us
when the children are gone,
and the lilac never reaches
out again?" I have no answer
for my perfect friend, but
turn my head to watch the
street, and hope another
child will pass by soon.

ADMISSION

If his sneakers make
this grudging admission,
it is not that the
flagstones of the
old chapel are any less
cold than the colored
tiles of a McDonald's
restaurant floor.

It is only because
the ancient stone
is worn smooth,
with no sharp edges,
and the whispers from
the bones beneath the floor
are never super-sized.