Three Poems

Amber

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She’d been looking everywhere, then Lisa,
an apparition in the hallway, and him
two seconds later, the smell.

She knew just what question to ask-
Lisa in the passenger seat, untied shoelaces
bouncing with each road bump- Where were you
and grandpa?

They tore her apart on the stand-
Look, I know I’ve been a bad mother,
but this isn’t about me…

I remember Baltimore,
Amber in her t bone bikini.
Seven months pregnant with Lisa then.

Tying the strings in the bathroom
mirror-her daddy was a navy seal– little black
daisies stretched over her hips.

Apology

For S.
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On the way back, you still at the wheel, the radio dial pinched between your fingers, I’d meant to say squalid, not sordid: “Go back to your squalid cabin!”…. And let’s not bring Freud into this because one old man is enough, and he was waiting for you, watching cartoons with his leg hitched on your bed. I meant filthy, as in physical filth, because of the dead rodent stench that blew from your Frigidaire, even after Gary chipped the ice-
encrusted tuna filet from the freezer space and the tub of expired yogurt was escorted out in a double bag.

And this makes a difference because, maybe had I said squalid, you wouldn’t have told me I was delusional about love and cruel, and, in the dark of your Hyundai, maybe your hurt and mine wouldn’t have buckled.

Motel Alone

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The bed frowns
and the dresser mirror
rattles when I yank open
the drawer:

Barrel through.
You wanted this, you…praying
mantis vixen brown
recluse.

Chin up, little bible!
Coffee
in the lobby
in the morning.