Early March 2005

OUR DAUGHTER IS WAY SICK

Jo Jo crusty nose,
rough coughing (sadly) away;
lethargic, soft sack
of baby.



FATHERHOOD: AN EXERCISE IN FATIGUE

I am a dry husk,
throw me into the compost.
Food for worms; just that.



$ CAN BRING YOU HAPPINESS

Money drains my blood.
My hair, like coins, dropping down.
It buys me nothing.



WOE IS ME

I have no social
life. I sleep, clean, do laundry,
fill up the gas tank.



BLOOD DRAWN (I’M NO DIFFERENT)

My wife never sleeps.
She is like a vampire.
Day comes; she slogs through.



THE GARBAGE DISPOSAL HAS DIED

Disposal pops out--
hole in the sink, goes nowhere.
Emmy thinks it's neat.



And No Teeth

Say Bye, Jo says Hi.
Come or go, you get a smile
with soft, wet, rolled, tongue.