You
You’re every cliché ever spoken.
You’re a bike wheel with seven spokes broken.
You’re the first one I see when awoken.
You’re all the camp scenes ever written.
You’re an apple with one cheek half-bitten.
You’re the glove to my clumsy old mitten.
You’re a lecture that never stops droning.
You’re a cold wind that’s constantly moaning.
You’re the listener to all of my groaning.
You’re a night-light that’s buzzing and blinking.
You’re a ship that’s in danger of sinking.
You’re a glare that I swear’s really winking.
You’re the tractor that’s stalled in the field.
You’re a bond with ten years till your yield.
You’re an open book that remains sealed.
You’re the dust mote in everyone’s eye.
You’re the funny side up of the sky.
You’re a watch that I set my time by.
You’re the cat that takes care of the mouse.
You’re the void left behind in the house.
You’re my comfort, my cure, and my spouse.
Urgency
The hard-pressed poet says to his love,
“Just time for one quick couplet, my dove.”
poems in The Yale Review, Shenandoah, Witness, Measure, etc., and was once the featured poet in Light. His two poetry books are Flaws and Kanji Poems, his two poem chapbooks Lists and Apocalypses. Upcoming in Fall 2026: a short story and flash fiction collection called Tradeoffs and a co-edited anthology of stories by sexagenarians and up, called 20 over 60. He’s also the editor of Vestal Review, the oldest flash fiction magazine on the planet.