My father wants to FaceTime.
He reads my blog.
Hey, Dad.

Rain falls slightly, and does so literally.

Christian texts and wants to smoke.
I’m already at work.

Laura calls and wants to smoke.
Period.

Neither reads my blog.

“Everything is going up,” he says.
The price of property.
“It’s not New York, or San Francisco-
Hell, it’s not even Miami. But it amazes me,”
says longtime resident, and cabbie,
who works for BATS.
(Bay Area Taxi Services).

Something about me
polishing rusty, ratchet sockets
on a cold, hardwood floor
causes in some-
I can’t even describe it-
I spend more time consoling
than I do, finishing the task in hand.

Something about Jon Stewart,
and a misread headline-
“We’re Gonna Eat You Jon!”
defines the hour, and then some.

Sometimes, I lose my temper.
There’s an old eskimo saying,
in the movie North.
It’s a really bad movie.

Six AM, the sun shows up.
This happens everyday.