slush

Sometimes don't you just feel like your heart will burst?
Or at least melt a little
But in a good way
Knowing
Feeling
Our way around
Together

alias Frente

the small sir
button
button mutton
little man
little bear
cuddler
mister man
mister manners
mister blister
tiny dancer
Freddie
weebie littles
sherpa
gobble sauce
clamber pants
scramble pants
pants
Barenboim
Schwarzkopf
fuzzer
Prince Pounce/king tiny/runner bean/brattus/troubler/king troubler/baby wigs/wigglesworth/man manners/snaucisse
der Frentenkavalier

Paddles

somedays it feels like semaphore
as if my fingers were bound together
tethered by hockey tape
or webbed like frogs
and in their swaddling
I would try to flag to you
to communicate my meanings
no, this not right
we should try another way
let's just forget it and go to sleep
and then somehow in the middle zone
you would sense it
read the space between the digits
and tuck it all in
the magic of a duvet
puffed fluffled
Quilt o'dreams

Eye contact

Staring at our orchid
Will not make it grow
Any faster

Wile E

maybe it's because I'm rheumy
stuffed up
runny eyes
all in my head
but when I hear them start
the pips the yips
the calls in the river valley
for some reason I think back to late elementary school dances
Lip Smackers
wide legged jeans
North Star runners and Nick Gilder's 'Hot Child in the City'
'Runnin wild and lookin pretty'
not sure what his inspiration was for that song
but probably not the sound of coyotes roaming along the banks of the North Saskatchewan
filtered through plugged ear drums
funny how sound travels
time
space
in and out of pockets

Snow day

and then there are times when you wait
and wait
and wait
for the bus that seems to never come
and the wind blows and blows and you are covered in snowflakes
and it is very cold
and your glasses fog up
and your toes are numb
and still the bus doesn't come
and it is like you are in your own Beckett play
or at least a vignette
and finally at the end of the block you see the bus turn the corner
and you feel a bit like a cartoon character
torqued up with steam rushing out of your ears
stomping and cussing
and the door to the bus opens and the bus driver smiles
and says that the roads are bad and that he's running about half an hour late
and all there is to do is to thank him and take a seat
and to be comforted in the company of other riders
because really
at the end of the day
at the end of it all
we are all just passengers

And counting

Minus 22 in sunlight and shadows
A second bevvie
Radishes and Scandinavian paper thin sliced radish bowl
Billions of passenger pigeons (trying but failing to imagine vividly)
Three African violets...two thriving one not so much
Fifteen going on sixteen tabby
24 (!?) felted coasters
A solitary post holiday meringue
Still tasty
Last one standing
Wharton Willie and Puxsatawny Phil
Six more weeks of winter