she pauses, you are lucky,
(not that you did not earn it)
she corrects herself
I turn pause, and hold my tongue
Regrets, old people are so full
of melancholy , anger and antagonism
looking about, comparing
sniffling into the past choices
trying to eliminate the differences
from the closest to them
at all cost wanting the tally
to be even or the same
Time is a teacher of the cruelest
yet we wear it through life
thinking it can be silenced
until all is taken, the voice becomes
louder, and louder without remorse
Copyrighted: CMM 2017
Smoked-filled room, choke the senses,
tenant’s visits heightens defenses.
Buried emotions, snuffed stale air,
vacant expressions with sunken stares.
All who come to the evening tomb,
cloud their lives within the room.
Clinking of glasses the flame of the lighter,
two strangers meet, become one-niters.
Reaching from trust now long failed,
hopes wrapped up now kept and jailed.
Speaking present, the buried past,
masking in drinks, in hopes it will last.
Long enough to help forget,
strangers, soon lovers, talk and sit.
She now with her tinted hair light,
sits as he listens throughout the night.
Each one look for their night of need,
knowing dawn their guilt will breed.
A different loss, a hollow space,
another night to seek; erase.
© CMM 2000
I was born with a cowlick,
as they say in the South
It is nowhere related
to parts of a mouth.
If you looked real close
nothing laid down.
Hair stood up everywhere
even the crown
People would notice
then look away.
See only the pretty girls
no cowlicks, got to stay.
But, even born with a cowlick
isn’t too bad.
Cause it won’t make you happy
and it won’t make you sad.
That’s got to come way deep inside
learning to take cowlicks all in stride.
© CMM 2012