Places where my poems are published:

Listed on P&W’s Directory of Writers

At the High Point

The whacking headboard
and squealing mattress means
your twenty-something-year-old
neighbors, above you, are at it again.

You hear galloping bed legs
and imagine lovers in a mad dash
to pop up at their destination,
as if the course wasn’t a sandy beach
meant to slow them
along its turquoise coast.

Weren’t you naïve once, thinking
all there was to keeping a woman
was breaking the last man’s record
while she cried out,
then kissed you afterwards?

That’s when you were young enough
to see the climax as a finish line
you bolted across before collapsing,
breathless and disoriented,
like the couple upstairs
whose sounds slide down
to you and your sleeping wife—

who, earlier, vacuumed the living room
while you streamed movies–
scanning the action category–
munching popcorn, swigging
a ginger beer.

Now you watch her stir
under the sheets, knowing—
after three years of complaints
about your dirty dishes
crowding the sink and clothes piling
a couch arm—your life together
is far from its climax,

that your slow rise to crescendo
is an extended foreplay–the arousal
like a shiny black Rolls Royce
furnished with plush seats
and a mini bar–
cruising you both around
before your arrival.