Chanel #5 

The sun crashes at the boundary of sight.
Shatters into rays of  red, orange, yellow.
Fire streaks leave spark-stars
        littering the black sky;
mere remnants,
        memories
of the day's heat.

Dark gray gathers,
threatens to sprinkle rain on dry crops,
threatens to shove away stale air,
let me breathe at last...
        maybe by tomorrow.

I watch the clouds
as your car pulls into the drive,
        late meeting made you late
        coming home to me.
I walk through air so dense,
I chew instead of breathe.
Slide my arms around your neck;
lips brush your cheek.
You hesitate.
        The smell of perfume rises from you
        like steam.
You offer a quick squeeze
then move toward the house,
expect me to follow.

The clouds are backlit for an instant,
flashes try to cut through cumulus,
force them to give up stored moisture
the cornstalks desperately need.

By the time I trace your steps,
you've disappeared into shower spray.
Your clothes litter the bathroom floor.
I pick them up,
drop them in the hamper,
        wonder when you developed a taste for
        Chanel #5.
        You always hated it on me.

The windows rattle with explosive thunder.
Flashes freeze our dark living room
in split second frames --
        each almost identical
        to the last.
I count the seconds between
flash and rattle.
Realize rain is still
a long way off.

The light silhouettes you
as you walk toward me.
        Why Chanel #5?
A knot pulls the towel at your waist
lower on one side
shows the jut of bone beneath flesh,
pink scratches welting the otherwise
smooth skin.
        You always told me you preferred
        Wild Musk.
Your arms pull me near.
        When did Musk become
        not enough?
Your lips move against my temple.
        Which scent lingers
        in your head right now?
Your arms slip under me,
release my weight from the sofa.
        My heart gasps,
        but I'm not sure why it stutters.
Your lips close on mine.
Dragon-breath fills my lungs,
warms me from inside
as you kick the bedroom door shut
behind us.

The gray cloud's flash invades the room,
lights the angles of your face.
Your lips and hands spark
on my bare skin.
I watch the flash,
watch you,
smile......
        Think maybe
        I should find Miss. Chanel #5,
        Think maybe
        the intensity of her daily rehearsals show.
        And no matter what scent fills your head,
        it's ME in your arms
        through the night.

        Think maybe
        I should thank Chanel #5.

In the morning
the storm's passed over,
leaving the ground as dry
as the day before.


The Estranged Mother

A gathering of teens
outside a local bar.
Some loony walks up
with a gun -
1 dead,
6 wounded.
Now the estranged mother wants
enforced curfews,
stricter loitering laws,
legal bedtimes.
Now the estranged mother wants
everyone to pay
for one loony.

But when someone asks
why her twelve year old
was in a bar parking lot
at 3:00 a.m.,
the estranged mother
has no reply.



Sammy

I named him Sammy
after the cartoon squirrel.
Watched that gray fluffball
gather food he found
        or the neighbors left out
                everyday     a ritual.
He buried it.
Forgot where it was until I had to pull up
a foot tall stalk of corn or baby tree.
I'd watch him dodge cars
as he gathered his daily seed,
        or leaves to fix his home...
he was a dodge-ball expert.
I swept up walnut shells  from the patio
when he finished a meal.
He'd sit  in his tree,
watch me
with the same indulgent smile
        I used on him.

Today, he was on my front porch,
or what was left  after the eagle'd
        finished it's meal.

I wrapped the mess in plastic,
burried it deep in the trash
to keep the vultures away.


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