hoping for matching socks
and meals that magically appear
an obvious paradox
both far and very near
mother's little helpers
play well with pinot grigio
one day whispers
yesterday is long ago
a sink full of dishes
hard to swallow screams
it's always Prozac wishes
and sweet Ambien dreams
written after drinking micheladas with my brother
if you squeeze
one unbruised lime into
a heavy glass mug
then add
a pinch of good salt
a handful of ice cubes
made with spring water
three dashes of the hottest sauce
you can stand
two long shakes
of smuggled worcestershire
and one ice cold Corona
you'll have
a michelada--
twelve ounces and
four satisfying syllables
of paradise
This poem is in my book: lavish lines/luscious lies. I think it begs to be read aloud!
