New poems

Afterimage

His smile burns in my mind like
the still frame of a bedroom
the moment after my finger
compels the lightswitch to
administer electricity and
exceeds the filaments expectations.
His smile remains behind
the darkness of my
closed eyes.


The Dish Best Served

I carefully place on the hook next to the oven
The warm, dry skillet with the silver handle
Once used for dinner's chewy pork chops and
Greasy hamburgers, but now makes more
Delectible dishes since the back of his head
Left the dent, near right in the center and
I no longer burn his Sunday bacon, but
Instead enjoy my own omelette mornings and
Risotto nights.