I have
a drawer
upstairs in
my mind
where I
file things 
that I’ll
never understand 
and that
hopefully will 
collect dust 
collapse disappear 
like the 
bones of 
those who 
did them 
to me 
to dust 

If one scratches 
on the veneer
of either oneself 
or even another 
what you’ll see
hidden desperately beneath 
is honesty the
scared truth that’s 
been teased chided
and mocked long
what we call 
toughness and resiliency 
are really just 
scabs after a 
lifetime of picking 
of same wounds 
never to heal 

I crave attention 
even in this 
late years life
I never do
anything with it 
vanity I think 
or maybe inspiration 
from a mother 
who would sit
for hours in 
front of mirrors 
trying to hide 
her purple bruises 
with cheap makeup 
after either whiskey 
or father disappeared

A cat screams 
a dog howls 
lights fly by
flashing blue red
someone in distress 
counting the seconds 
night is broken 
the silence is
and hope too
in this darkness 
we all wait
for rescue from 
cold city black

Poor thing 
is sick
and I 
mother hen
do attend 
to every
ache pain 
and misery 
with coos
soothing soup
and a 
little laughter 
everyone knows 
even illness 
enjoys company