Kansas in August

I’m the first born, so I pull chairs into circle formation.
I receive them: daughters, brothers, cousins, forgotten Aunts.
We gather around the punch bowl, chocolates wrapped in gold,
And the Texas sheet cake. Shiny gooey squares sitting on little red plates.
The strawberry slices on top look like hearts, or not,
But we support their 50 bitter and sweet years of marriage.
I pose them, because they never had the chance.
Hand-in-hand, in front of these witnesses
Mom cries through her repeat-after-me vows.
And when the officiant asks what 1 + 1 is
My Dad says “one” just as clear as day.
It’s finally adding up to be something absolute.

A “Plus One” poem for Poetic Asides


Open Whitest Bell in a Snap

it’s the
the kind of work
(the girl explains
to the boy)
that must be done

it’s the kind of work
where eyeseyes
are on the appearing
of a fine paper
white bell
(a hijinks for
parent’s 13th)

must jinx mom’s
vindictive teeth
(the girl says)

with the softest whitest
bell that opens like
(like this)

we must hang it prettily
enough in the living
room archway
like mistletoe

hijinks, jinx
explain, explained
they won’t fight about
that, that alone

get the scotch
instant tape
we don’t want to leave
a mark

like the,
like hers

for Real Toads

Happy Anniversary to Me?

Gawkers viewing Angie's Inspirations

Gawkers viewing Angie’s Inspirations

Goodness knows, I love me some gawkers!!!
Though, I believe the correct term here is ‘bloggers.’

Stay classy.

Thanks for the warm welcome I’ve received from all of you.
A special shout-out goes to the following addresses: