Graveside Cake

We are at peace digging—

pocketing shiny rocks
and dirt clods from childhood.

We are at peace picnicking
by the open holes,
chewing mystery 

meat, sour milk and cake,
perched laughing on virgin 

headstones for a better view 

of the sunset, for a better view 

of the fireworks, for a better view 

of black smoke rising--

for delightful sacrilege,
for mocking friendly warnings,
for inhaling all the ash.

-M.

Upscale Couch and Sandwich Co.

Other people’s couches are
rarely your taste and often
smell of the last time
their owners used garlic.

Commercial couches belong
to a million other people and
are no exception—wrinkled blue
slipcovers and stained gold
pillows on a dangerous
wax floor. Their cushions
funked with overcooked coffee
and burnt herb garlic bread.

On Saturday afternoons the
overdressed sandwich eaters stream
from nouveau neighborhoods,
past the blue garlic couches,
holding their trays and polite
children in front of them—pink mouths
drooping with nouveau food
and overpriced quiet—halfway
in, halfway out.

-M.