Cups: A Prose Poem

Cups Beside the plastic, one by one, in order of country, are the cups.  There have been more cups ruined emptying the dishwasher. Right now, the quantity of cups keeps increasing, squashed in, at the back of the cupboard. They’re like friends visiting one another. The Guernica cup (Picasso) from Madrid abuts the English Wren from Shrewsbury.  Black as Guinness,...

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The Lamp: Prose Poem (updated)

The Lamp        First be a magnificent artist and then you can do whatever, but the art must be first.               (Francisco de Goya) A young father buys a 70s Beetle fender that houses a chrome front light. The man radiates the glow of restoration, but barely...

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Poem: Op Shop

Op-Shop In a quiet suburban street, ladies visit the aisles of secondhand clothes. Hands separate racks, touch other lives that have come before.     The young girl, sitting on a bus, straightens her blue pleats, and just around the corner, as if time hasn’t passed, wears a black leather jacket with studs. Later, she buttons a pin-tuck shirt for the...

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