Where the Demons Hide

In sidewalk cracks to keep

feet in flip flops or sneaks

to toe the line between

three and nine, number of

tap tap tap to clear a door–

secure in wash rinse repeat.

Switch the light

off and on his synapses

where the demons hide.


More, Please!


salmonella you know will kill.

Potatoes mashed with talk of aunts

in the kitchen blanching

husbands, uncles, brothers

watching pigskin,  dreaming of

the glory days, kids split in

dens according to age. Sweet

yam casserole with marshmallow—

brown sugar, butter and flour

is the way to go, sausage dressing

sits on the table to taunt Labrador

licking his chops. Hank,

the new boyfriend, hoping to fit

his pants after homemade rolls

dipped in gravy strains the seams

and such to everyone’s delight,

pecan pie

to stretch appetites.


When we were young, somebody’s love,

following the long road home, beautiful birds

to ignore the fool’s gold view.

When we are as old as the sea, 

somebody’s wave

to flow and ebb across their sand

to implore the fool’s gold view–

why do you ignore what you see?

This draft was written with song titles  from Passenger’s album Young as the Morning, Old as the Sea