​ Winter Day
 
It is sunny,
not a good day for a revolution.
Instead, I plan to go to the drugstore,
buy some soap and cough drops,
then pick up my shirts from Erin Cleaners
where a red-haired woman always stands
behind the counter. I might mention
to her that she’s oppressed. Yes!
By the British because she’s Irish.
As a worker because she must sweat all day
in the laundry. And as a woman ruled
by patriarchal society.
Or maybe I’ll just say,
“It’s nice outside.”          
​


 Sopron
 
I’ve come here
eighteen
in awe
of your churches
 
your cobblestone
streets
and your clip-
clopping
 
horses
in love with K.
her body
melting
 
merging
with my own
while outside
your soldiers
 
with their guns
strapped
lazily
under arm
 
remind me
that my parents
(once young
themselves)
 
fled across
your marsh field
while bullets
grazed
 
the night sky
and Russian tanks
roamed
Budapest
 
where the statue
of Stalin
lay
in ruins.



 Fire Alarm 4:30 a.m.
 
You pop up in bed,
like bread from a toaster,
then smell smoke in the hallway –
you dress in torn jeans
and stuff your poems in the refrigerator –
you stand in front of the building
in cold wind and drizzling rain,
look for the fire truck to arrive,
then find Chuck and Cathy bleary-eyed
and carrying Sasha in a cardboard box –
Lisa staggers down wearing a nightgown and sweater,
and you all laugh as Chuck says,
It’s a surprise going away party for Lisa –
the fireman says some guy
left food on the stove and is lucky to be alive –
you climb the stairs back to your room
and lie on your bed
to find the night stretched out before you
endless hours in length,
and you remember that Allen Ginsberg once said,
When the muse calls – answer



Love Poem

For days
the dishes lie
 
in the sink
till water
 
white with soap
restores
 
their shine
then sends them
 
to the cupboard
alone.

​

 Spring Influx

Come March or April
bugs invade my condo.
They stream in by the tens and twenties.
Ants enter in caravans complete
with tents and dancers of the seven veils,
with spits they set up to toast
the breadcrumbs I forgot to sweep up.
Spiders build castles in the corners,
while beetles start up jazz bands.
Millipedes hold hundred-centimeter dashes
and time them with the clock on my DVR.
There’s no use trying to stop them.
It’s best to put on a T-shirt
and try to blend in.
​