Don’t Be Afraid To Cry

A large room with a window
Could have been a bedroom
Floor cluttered with shirts
New, men’s sport shirts
With designer logos
On left, chest pockets
Logos, of a Southwest
Native American talisman
Slow parade of unfamiliar
Men, of all persuasions
Came and went
Helped themselves
To expensive garments
From the window
My father’s face–reflected
Disappointment, sadness


Sticks and Stones

Away from home

While missing home

Tropical uncertainties traded

For low humidity, blue skies

Family traditions

Free room and board

Minor discomforts

Boring road food

Some of it was acting

Acting, for the benefit

Of those in attendance

Buddy Holly tribute eyewear

In fashion–without thought

Given to rockabilly legends

Some left to make room

for those, yet to come

Modern-day prophets

Rested, never knowing

Their promised lands

Mere words unimportant

Sticks and stones


Desolation Roads

Small town values

Houses with

Plastic covered

Drafty windows

Temporary fixes

To quell winter’s cold

Strange-named burbs

Far away from fake tans

Full of people

With weathered

Wrinkled skin

Happy for a while

Till the pendulum swung

Nothing better came along

They either moved on or stayed

A story already told

Along desolation roads




All was well in Coyoteville; peaceful seclusion broken by excited yips and howls.  Everybody knew everybody.  Everybody looked about the same–except for differing ages, and battle scars.  Juveniles looked up to adults.  Disputes were few and settled quickly.  If an individual came up lame, they usually didn’t last long.  Coyoteville, stretched from vast expanses of western desert, to metropolitan suburbia.

There was no such thing as good or bad luck in Coyoteville.  Every day was the same as the day before and the day after.  Coyotes didn’t know the meaning of anxiety.  They simply went from one opportunity to the next.  Dependent on each other for food, security–busy, both day and night.  Coyotes kept out of sight, rested when they could.

Winter, summer, hot, cold–even when it rained; there was no right or wrong, no one to blame.  When yelled at by humans, Coyotes ran away and hid.  Much maligned, when pets and livestock disappeared; trust with humans, that wished them dead, was too high a price to pay.  So, they confided, only in shadows and whispered to rocks and wind.

Decisions came fast in Coyoteville–the stronger ruled the weaker.  I’m not afraid to say it, at that moment I needed a friend.  From my warm, comfortable house, I wondered, if these cousins of the wolf knew how important they were.  Knew how much my spirit longed to be like them; how much I envied their resourcefulness; their loyalty–their non-judgmental existence.  I needed them more than they needed me.