Drizzle

Drizzle

Dog lime in the yard.

A plastic bag open in her right hand.

A newspaper wrapper condomed over her left.

She knows the drizzle

oozes through the roof

of the house at her back.

A seeping pentimento of decay

emerges again and again

on her living room wall.

Don't Read This

Don't Read This

For god's sake, put down the book

and do something useful.

Open a window, blow the stink off;

stir fry up some fresh vegetables,

call a friend to join you for dinner;

buy a card for someone who's sick;

go outside and get some exercise,

you're pale and going to flab, look

at those thighs!; wash your kitchen floor,

it's full of dog hair, bird seed hulls

and muddy footprints; and walk that dog,

she's getting tired of sitting home

with nothing to do but eat the crotch

out of your old underpants; light a candle,

say a prayer for the dead or the living

or for yourself, somewhere in between.