HAPPY BITCHES
She sits on her fat ass
surfing the Internet, visiting for hours,
balancing her checkbook,
reading novels;
no time to give me my work;
she stuffs it in a drawer and waits.
The world revolves around her.
She’s up here fifty times a day
looking in folders and the drawer,
I thought she’d find it eventually.
I got slammed and all she can think
about is her work piling up in the drawer.
The world doesn’t revolve around her.
If you don’t have time to bring my work down,
can you call me, and I’ll stop what I’m doing
and come get it?
Yes!
Bitch.
I choose to stay in my area
and deal only with her on business.
Her loss not mine;
I’ll be happier.
So will I.
SMOKER WOMAN
Woman hunches on glider swing
not moving except her arm
guiding cigarette up…down.
Pink robe blooms around her
like cold morning air rouging
cheeks in old-lady powder.
Smoke/breath mingle
in pre-dawn gloom
as black cat consumes breakfast
on doorstep, cleans face
leaving fat fur unfurled
against frost-sparkling fingertips.
Oblivious to woman
smoking, staring
at two black labs across the street
as they wrestle couch pieces
into smaller, smaller fragments
strewn like snowman parts
lying abandoned on lawn.
Cars drive by with drivers thinking
two dogs are going to be in trouble
when owners go outside —
another episode
for pink-robed woman
to share with black cat.
SAND BURIES
Easily offended
sand buries everything
like cats going to the bathroom.
Rocks on shore ripple
farther and farther under;
camel tracks on dunes
sift away with wind;
sand upon sand grains
compress and avalanche
runs to the bottom
in hourglass timing.
Sand buries everything
in a landfill quarry
for future archeologists.
© Susan Weiman: N Train 2020
AFTERMATH
Beached rowboat collects
cauldron of snow and rain
rocked by two boys
like ocean pre-hurricane
back and forth in waves
crashing over sides
until boat tips
beyond balance releasing
tsunami over shoes and jeans.
Wrath of mother hollers
a tempest echo that ripples
across boat’s dregs,
tree limbs tremble
with fingers pointing
toward the two culprits,
silent and content
a leaf falls into the boat.
OLD MAN WILD
Old man has wild, white bed hair
wisping around eyes and ears.
Scraggly gray beard can’t cover
grim lips pressed into scowl mode.
Skinny legs swim in pant legs,
and his stooped manner of walk
all remind me of an ostrich sneaking
toward me to snatch a treat
of which I am unmindful.
Yet I must be mindful
since he enters my radar;
I watch his intentions
ready to sound the alarm.
After all, ostriches can run
30 miles per hour,
and I’d rather see
the old man’s backside
speeding away from me
than his determined face
flashing toward me.