The Third Box

There was once a man who lost his name,
His sanity
And sense of self.

But he owned three boxes,
Each cardboard shape similiar in size.

This was all he knew.

He lived in a grand old Victorian home,
With a garden full of lilies and roses and petunias,
But he couldn't really see the colors.

There were little golden statuettes
In his study,
And on his desk were two
Golden, diamond studded cuff links -
A Testament to his wealth.

The house smelled of flowers,
But the room -
The room most certainly
Carried the scent of a woman.

Yet he lived alone.

The carpet was an eggshell white,
Brand new,
With a bearskin rug shipped
All the way from Romania.
But there was a faint blotch of color -
A light plum skin,
That would not disappear.

Surely it was a wine spill?

But he only ever drank
In the presence of company,
And this stain was new.

Why, I haven't had a visitor for many years...

He wondered.

But his boxes,
Those identical boxes,
Were up in the attic -
They were the only thing in life
That seemed right.

He climbed up the wooden stairs,
To assure himself.
And there they were.

He opened them up one by one,
A strange feeling of nostalgia overtaking him.
There were old newspapers, antique jewelry,
Clothing, a dusty saxophone, letters.

In the third box,
There were only pictures.
Hundreds,
If not thousands.

He held one in his hand.
There stood a woman,
Tall and elegant with long,
Slender hands.
A man stood next her,
Grinning stupidly at the sight of her face.

He turned the picture around and saw
His own name written in dark ink.

He looked up at the body length mirror.
But he was not at all the man in the picture.

Two

I'm wondering if I should say...
I'm wondering if it's even true?
But if neither of you take it well,
What am I supposed to do?

Stuck between a rock and a hard place,
All I do is cry.
Do I reveal this buried treasure?
Or carry on this lie?

I'm wondering if my love for one was real,
Or just curiousity?
Would my feeling have been the same
Without your animosity?

Then there's the other.
What can I say?
He could push me through the Gates of Hell
And I'd still decide to stay.

Two people, two hearts,
How could I fall for both?
And when the truth comes forth revealed,
How am I then to cope?

My mind is flooded with the memories of two very different souls.
And I've come along to just assume
So many different roles.

One says that I'm changed - I could never be the same.
The other wants to stay - regardless of the pain.

One I have lived to love,
The other I have loved and lost.
How could I sell the products short,
At such a cheaply cost?

One has forgotten what used to be;
He'll deny the past in every single way.
The other could not do without me for a single day.

Two very different people?
How could I love them both?
And when all is said and done,
Which do I love the most?

Is it really true that certain things are better
lef unsaid?
Or should I jump the bridge and simply say
What I feel instead?

The pain feels like an endless tunnel,
But it has just begun.
I really could not live at all
Without that certain one.

Stupid America

We the People of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union...

Stupid America,
See that young girl with a belly
The size of a soccer ball,
Walking lopsided in pain?
She is not a loose teenager,
A statistic.
She is a smart child - with honors courses
Who was raped by her drunk uncle
And too afraid to face the facts.

Establish justice, ensure domestic tranquility...

Stupid America,
See that pretty young girl?
Walking alone in the street,
Trying to find herself,
Without a map or help from society?
The man with the badge filed a report,
Then took her back home.
Not even the Constitution could keep her
Father's hands from touching
Innocent places.

Provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare...

Stupid America,
Remember that lively, bright girl
Who once had a Dream?
She was only thirteen.
Her body couldn't take the pain of
Birthing a child into this world,
And she died on the spot,
A premature baby with a heartbeat
Lying besides her.

...and secure the blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity...

Stupid America,
You will question where her parents were
While she was out having sex.
You will use her as an example and reason
To practice safe sex or abstinenc.
You will nod your head in a typical fashion
While glancing at the Obituaries,
Waving the paper in the air and saying to your nearby daughter,
"See what happens?"

...do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States ofAmerica.

Yellow Roses

You sent me flowers,
Yellow roses.
You remembered,
Good friend.

I form no illusions.

No teddy bears,
Candy-coated chocolates,
Heart-shaped ballons.

Your way
To say
Still friends;
I care.

When you remember
Send me flowers,
Yellow roses,
My friend.

I know they hold no secrets
Nor fantasies
Nor dreams.

I form no illusions.

Your New Wife

Take this poem and deliver it to my husband,
Tell him it's from his wife.
He will be the one with the unshaven face
And the bags under his eyes,
And he will carry with him the smell of
Menthol cigarettes and tar.
He will not greet you kindly.

He will curse you
And give you every threat known to mankind
But you must be persistant -
I have some things to say before
I let him go.

Husband;

There are sheets in the washer
That need to be put to dry
Or they will certainly stink up the house.
Trevor has baseball practice every week day,
From six to eight
Except on Friday's -
Remember this.

The flowers on the windowsill in the kitchen
Need to be watered.
You know I hate dying plants.
Rushing out of the house this morning,
I knocked over our wedding picture.
If you would be so kind to pick it up again,
Thank you.

The shattered glass reminds me of
The time you hit me
"Because you are a man."
Men don't cry.
And I will not depart saying "I love you"
Because I'd like your transition to be smooth.
Despite what you think,
Even now I care very much.

As for the carrier of this poem,
I have selected her to be your
New wife.
I don't know whether to tell you
To treat her like me,
Or perhaps not.

Do not show me regret.
It's too late for that.
Now is the time to be strong,
Remember - we have a child.

I see your tears clearly now,
Your vision of my words blurred.
I guess you were wrong.

Treat her better.

Land

I came around the corner,
The darkness well settled around me.

The usuals were there.
Crazy Abe was hidden between a brick building
And an old warehouse
Where cardboard boxes are made.

Billy was dancing to his walkman;
A song no one could hear but him.

The decaying building which was once
A Salvation Army,
Closed seven years ago,
Was littered with homeless men
And their carts of cans and dirty clothes.

Brian and the gang were on the corner,
Hidden from the moon.

Laughter.

There might have been cat calls,
But I was tuned in
To the land where they stood.