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Frivolous Quill

  • The Only Baseball Fact I Know

    April 8th, 2020

    In 1980 the Yomiuri Giants
    signed outfielder Gary Thomasson
    for 1.2 million dollars

    which he used to birth
    a metaphor by sitting
    on the bench, hitlessly waving

    his bat and spinning,
    they said, like
    a Giant Human Fan.

    And so ‘Thomasson’ came to
    represent a contradictory remnant
    within our built environment.

    Once usefully functional,
    now functionally useless,
    yet conspicuously maintained.

    A doorknob in a wall;
    a bridge connecting two halves of air;
    a spiral staircase, leading

    I don’t know how much God
    spent building me, and I could
    probably figure the maintenance

    from gas bills and groceries
    and Netflix subscriptions but
    I know the cost to save me

    so I so often pray that I am
    more than a doorless balcony and
    that he would, once, tell me

    where my stairs

  • Tidy

    April 4th, 2020

    His single sheet
    of lined paper
    was aligned with his
    single pencil
    which rested atop
    his single table which
    wobbled next to mine.

    And though his hands
    were folded, waiting,
    and though his eyes
    were fixed, unwavering,
    into space, I think

    I was more expectant.

  • Gilligan’s Quarantine

    April 3rd, 2020

    i meant to write this yesterday
    as space and time allowed
    but my son came down in his baseball cap
    and asked to watch a show

    we’re trapped inside this iso home
    together and alone
    passing time adjacently
    as he just gets more grown

    so while my craft is withering
    and needs attentive care
    i’m not about to let this chance
    pass by me

    unaware

  • Writer’s Block

    April 1st, 2020

    They say cats bring gifts, wriggling, to
    our doorsteps because they don’t trust
    us to feed ourselves and so we should be

    thankful for snakes, voles, moles, and mice
    carried haughtily up the steps but
    I’m not the one who falls off the bed.

    Still I couldn’t think of a damn
    thing to write. Couldn’t catch the bird
    in the bush despite the pen in my hand

    as he sauntered toward the screen,
    robin thrashing in his jaws, and said,
    through a mouth-full of feathers,

    ‘Well?’

  • Unaccompanied Minor

    April 9th, 2019

    I don’t know
    what
    angelic aerodynamics were involved
    in sending Christ from his Father’s
    right hand to Mary’s womb
    but when my son took
    off toward his grandparents at
    140 knots my heart leapt
    to follow with stubby wings
    which floundered
    in his wake and I
    wasn’t even sending him
    to be crucified
    only coddled by flight
    attendants who knew
    exactly who
    he was.

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