WE HAVE
a beautiful collection
of big moose bones
at the Odd Fellows
courtesy of son-in-law
Phil Kari
longtime denizen of
Alaskan Way Hinter-
hunting grounds.
My birthday last year brought
a pair of boiled to the bone
shoulder blades
from that year's moose.
I tagged them today
with Carl Sandburg's
CHICAGO,
integrating them better
into our household.
The blades stand on
the landing up to
the loft where I work.
On a human
the shoulder blades
would be here:
play
and this one, too
(if you want to)
(if you want to)
Over the loft ledge
I shoot a zoom picture
of the already-mentioned
giant moose femur
that occupies a place of honor
on the coffee table.
Thanks to hunter and
feeder of my daughter
and grandchildren
their healthy moose meat,
we give a toast to Sir Phillip
formerly of Babbit, MN
He knows animals
and shares.
Desire
The slim,
suntanned legs
of the woman in front of me in the checkout line
fill me with yearning
to provide her with health insurance
and a sporty little car with personalized plates.
The way her dark hair
falls straight to her slender waist
makes me ache
to pay for a washer/dryer combo
and yearly ski trips to Aspen, not to mention
her weekly visits to the spa
and nail salon.
And the delicate rise of her breasts
under her thin blouse
kindles my desire
to purchase a blue minivan with a car seat,
and soon another car seat, and eventually
piano lessons and braces
for two teenage girls who will hate me.
Finally, her full, pouting lips
make me long to take out a second mortgage
in order to put both kids through college
at first- or second-tier institutions,
then cover their wedding expenses
and help out financially with the grandchildren
as generously as possible before I die
and leave them everything.
But now the cashier rings her up
and she walks out of my life forever,
leaving me alone
with my beer and toilet paper and frozen pizzas.
of the woman in front of me in the checkout line
fill me with yearning
to provide her with health insurance
and a sporty little car with personalized plates.
The way her dark hair
falls straight to her slender waist
makes me ache
to pay for a washer/dryer combo
and yearly ski trips to Aspen, not to mention
her weekly visits to the spa
and nail salon.
And the delicate rise of her breasts
under her thin blouse
kindles my desire
to purchase a blue minivan with a car seat,
and soon another car seat, and eventually
piano lessons and braces
for two teenage girls who will hate me.
Finally, her full, pouting lips
make me long to take out a second mortgage
in order to put both kids through college
at first- or second-tier institutions,
then cover their wedding expenses
and help out financially with the grandchildren
as generously as possible before I die
and leave them everything.
But now the cashier rings her up
and she walks out of my life forever,
leaving me alone
with my beer and toilet paper and frozen pizzas.
