The Rain and the Conversation Internal

The things I think about.

The rain is beating on my head
And filling up my mind

Whatever happened to that girl –
My sixth grade Valentine?

I pull my scarf around my neck
My cap over my eyes

You know what would be good right now?
Some fresh hot crinkle fries

The puddles jump into my socks
The chill goes up my back

The last I heard, she was a dentist
Up in Merrimack

I dash under the awning as
I breathe and count to ten

I could drive through for chicken wings
And pick up some fries then

I slowly wipe my glasses and
I head back to my desk

To think of childhood girlfriends, man?
That is kind of grotesque

I take my hat and scarf off and
My two legs I extend

I hate the cold. I don’t need fries.
I wish this rain
Would end

Single Thought #21 – Suspicion

“When people don’t do what I want…”

When people don’t do what I want
I have a tendency to question their motives
Which is insane

I don’t and can’t know their motives
Only their actions
Which are subject to wide interpretation

When I think ill of people and predict doom
I will eventually be right about this or that thing
But lose much by being wrong
The rest of the time

So it is not that I should live life without caution
But that I need to give those closest to me
The benefit of the doubt

For living with suspicion
Is like going through a crime

That never even happened

Beyond Myself

Friends estranged and family lost.

I go beyond myself and see
That suffering is everywhere;
That many craft a painted smile
To hide the crease of toil and care

For money not available
Addictions and disease;
For friends estranged and family lost
Burnt flowers and dead trees

I should then bear my neighbors up
Through all they undergo:

For sorrow’s universal

It’s a thing

That we all


I Am the Addict’s Father

There is no feeling so lonely

As being the only one left

Who believes


But I have to believe

That you can come back

That there still is a “you”

To come back


Actions become indolence

Words become lies

Lies become the story

And as to the rest

God only knows what will come


I am tired beyond words

And sick

At heart


There is no feeling so lonely

As being the only one left

Who believes

My Name Is Oscar Smuff

Ninety nears I’ve had bad press
My name is Oscar Smuff;
You have been told that I’m a mess
And I have had enough

I am a great detective
I was topmost in my class;
My bow ties are quite stylish
As is my bushy mustache

Who is this W. Dixon guy
Who has it in for me?
I make an honest living
Here in mild obscurity

But he paints me to be an oaf –
A clod – some sort of dunce –
I’ve never even seen the guy
In Bayport. Even once.

It’s bullying, that’s what it is
And sheer mendacity;
My name is Oscar Smuff,
So please
Quit making fun
Of me