Gothic Gloves
Romancing your looking glass reflection
northern lights pierce fractured windowpanes
frame my mirrors with supercharged
atoms displaying rhythmic finesse
each particle a proficient flamingo soloist
in step with a blinking star metronome
the power moon watches on as babbling brooks
build tension—gargle notes sent skywards.
Like Erik, the Phantom’s lover, you wander
the night, warm to songs you’d sing to your
own reflection wearing black opera glovers, take
comfort in shadows, seek music in the stratosphere,
dissident melodies floating beyond rooftops
hovering in meadows, holding court
over rogue galleries of empty dreams,
watching your image disappear in mist.
Pass on the Space Needle
Approaching Pier 57, beholding
a flashing circle of revolving lights
lovers clasp hands, lock legs,
kill time standing in the ticket line
imagine planting high altitude kisses
for twelve minutes inside a gondola
as the Seattle Great Wheel gyrates
undaunted by weather, privacy ensured
slowly, smoothly, rising 175 feet
overlooking Elliot Bay; bodies below
resemble ants escaping a formicarium
random, disorganized, moving inside
building, blending into shadows;
families usher children into berths
young bodies all eager for loading
to cease & aerial motions to begin
while parents plan on an additional
midnight ride in the VIP cabin—
usually vacant—that features classy
leather seats, a glass bottom floor
& stereo sound system….
Passengers touch ground, disembark
lofty highs, buy souvenir memento
at the Pikes Place Fish Market then
forsake vivid sights & pungent smells
descend beneath Streets in Pioneer Square
to gawk at Emerald City’s built on sawdust
through amethyst color lights, marveling
at the underground city’s mysteries
while ferries streak across the bay,
bob on waves like orca pods—on time,
unimpressed—arriving & departing at terminals
on their own terms, drawn north, south, east & west
by a mission—not whim—all along Puget Sound.
Napping Bulldozers
Napping bulldozers lined the highway
dust & dirt collected on tar covered steel
while pea gravel from unpaved roads
pelted its sides, deflecting off bogies
hitting passing carts like shotgun blasts
leaving pits the size of a B-B up & down
the length of automotive bodies forged
from recycled beer cans & aluminum foil.
The bulldozers just slept—cold indifference
encapsulated inaction mornings & afternoons
rain or shine seemed all the same as did people
who pulled over their trucks, motorcycles
cars & vans, lounged on the metal beasts,
snapped a few selfies, concluding photo shoots
in the driver’s seat, waving to other motorists
thinking—not daydreaming—about work.