threee short ones

three short ones

i will watch her not look at me,
and when she turns her head,
my eyes will fly off
like two pheasants.

she is the louisianna night
and my thoughts are fireflies
and the moments
are like a maple
still growing
even when the night is gone.

the husband is too wise to talk
about his thoughts
which don’t belong to him
but to a woman he saw once.


chumahan

the office

the office

this cubicle was designed so neatly
the designer was so neat
so neatly you can “re-arrange” these walls anytime
but no one ever does.

this clock is perfectly round
it never moves forward
it casts an invisible net
around everything i do.

paper clips are identical
each one is bent in the same place
perfectly good ones are thrown away
like they were nothing.

i should work to the top of the company
that’s how he became president
got rich doing what he loved
but i have to let the Xerox know who i am
so “guess who” knows who’s wasting paper.

the scientists lied
there was never any “two billion years ago”
we’re still swimming for relief
in the primordial soup,
and only a few crawl out.


chumahan

moving

moving

the things
i see everyday want me to hate them
but all i have
are things i see everyday

this alarm clock is my eye
the socks on the floor are yesterday
this soap dish is my prayer that cradles my cleanliness
the bathroom window is the dawn
this cereal from general mills and the homogenized milk is my conception
this wallet is my grandfather’s handshake
the crows in the palm trees tell me, none of us is really supposed to be here
the wet pavement smells like the clouds
this dog reminds me that the sidewalk is the earth
the construction worker is the guardian of patience
the frying egg in the taco truck smells like the sunshine

the city is my face
my face is where i live
ha-ha, there is no such thing
as moving.


chumahan