2016 is a weekly planner
left mostly blank.

I guess I didn't really use it all that much.

With a week to go I begin write down what I did last week.
Then, I do the week before.

I'm an explorer on a rescue mission,
mounting memories and evading events.

I write down what I remember happening
until I run out of space.

My year has become
a long story short.

To go forward I look back
And end the year at the start.


On Boxing Day,
there is plenty of time
to take a bath and
drink camomile tea

On Boxing Day,
there is plenty of time
to unpack yesterday's paper
and take it to the cafe.

On Boxing Day,
there is plenty of time
to read and listen,
stare and hear
until you're sick
from overthink.

Two cups of coffee,
and a ripe banana,
a smoke from a leaf, and
plenty of time
should do the trick.


I noticed her glasses were broken
And pointed this out. 

She was well aware and said
she needed to get new ones.

She picked up my sunglasses 
that were sitting on my desk
and put them on.

Mind if I?
Are these prescription?
Whoa, you’re blind
Do you have a stigmatism 
In the left eye?

I started to explain
that well yes
to her
sitting there
but what’s hard to do
is say that you are
in one eye.

And, what’s impossible to do
is show someone 
what you cannot see.

So you start by telling the


I hear, “Hey batter, batter...” 

We’re wearing yellow, my team, the Dukes. I have gray sweatpants and Payless cleats on. Our hats have a D, are mesh and mine sits high on my head. It's snapped back to the second to last position. My tee shirt, our jersey, is too big. My dad is our manager. And he has no idea what he is doing. He has never coached anything before. He wrote our line-up on a prayer concerns card at church on Sunday. His way of asking God for help. He has given everyone on our team nicknames. He wants to play me but doesn’t want to favor me. I don’t envy him. I was there at the batting cage, and will be there all those times in the garage, hitting the bottle caps he’s collected with a broom stick. Something he thinks will improve my eye-hand. I will feel his frustration. 

Compared to us, our opponents for game one, the purple team, are the Yankees of the Little League Minors. They look professional. Instead of ill-fitting sweats they're wearing polyester baseball pants, pulled up with matching purple stirrups. The Yankees wear name brand cleats and broken-in gloves. They have batting gloves and special bags for their bats. Whereas, the bat my dad bought me at Oshmans up the street fits into the opening of the hand-me down glove and I better not lose either one of them. We haven't gotten to batting gloves yet.

“Hey batter, batter, batter...”

Is this what they call chatter? I’m up now with two outs. And, I'm all up in my head. Part of me is not in the game; part would rather not be up; part wishes I was on base; part is scared of the ball; part wants to hit it; part wants to take, knowing I’d probably miss anyway; part would rather play soccer; part thinks I’d suck at soccer; part is uncomfortable in this jock; part is ready; part never will be; part doesn’t want to let the team down; part doesn’t give a shit; part knows this is it. And here’s the pitch … "Sa-wing batter."


Tell me a story.
Make it a good one.

Go way back when.
From your childhood.

Tell me a story.
Make it hard to recall.

Try to remember names
—who was
with you—
and what
you were

Tell me a story.
Make it hurt a


I left the drawer open. Not the everything drawer. The silverware one. I don’t know what I was reaching for in there, why I needed it all the way open, but that’s how I left it and how you found it. And for that I’m sorry.


I'm second guessing my food order
at the cafe with the coughing barista.

Two other customers ask her how she's feeling.
Not good and horrible were her answers.

What I mistook for slits, eyes tired or stoned
really belong to someone super sick, someone
who should not be working / handling food.

Now I'm noticing her pajama bottoms,
slippers, and rag she coughs into /
wipes down things with
all nonchalant.

But I didn't when I asked her to make me a sandwich.

Now, I’ll be lucky if her condition is not passed along
to me.

So tomorrow might be the day that
I'm the one wishing I wasn't working
when I have to be.