Battleground

Each morning when the alarm clock rings, she whispers a prayer and hopes He brings...an end to the war she’s waging. Every single day. The enemy may surprise you; Evil works hard to find a way. To crush a positive spirit, dim the light inside. Cruel words, deceit and mockery are now weapons to strip her pride. Belittled, manipulated, attacked...such ruthless spite could knock anyone off their path. But though her soul is deeply bruised, the strength within her can’t be diffused. With a graceful heart and spark so bright, integrity is her shield to win this fight.

Disenchanted

It was impossible not to let my guard down when such earnest words escaped your lips. Caressing the edges of my face, lifting the hair from my neck, they made their way in through my receptive ears. Tentative, but twinkling with hopefulness. They began to chisel at the stone wall around my skeptical heart. But just as I started to believe them, their value began to change. Hopefulness turned to disrespect and hid behind a mask of silence. The common bond we quickly formed was cast away like pirates. Any honesty in those words will always remain a question. The wall around my heart is secure again; and only a man as good as his word can break it.

The Real Thing

I slam the car door, glance up, and see her, Standing in the middle of the sidewalk. Mickey Mouse waves at me from her yellow t-shirt, ripped jean shorts barely cover her ass. Closer to God in those heels, but just pushing five feet. She’s got one hand on her hip, a baby on the other. I pause, my heart full of admiration. A cigarette hangs from her brightly painted mouth. She takes a calculated drag and exhales slowly. The sun beats down on us. Scorching. It’s driving the men mad. Her copper and gold curls catch the light and for a moment she looks at me. One brown eye, one blue. I nod in greeting. Her head turns back and her lips form a familiar, unimpressed sneer. She clenches her jaw and I grin, knowing what comes next. "Yo tengo mi nena, tener respecto."

The Devil's Playground

the innocence
of youthful slumber
interrupted
by a piercing scream
momentary confusion
if only it was a dream
two naked bodies
a face normally so sweet
now twisted up in anguish
shoulders slumping in defeat
a monster in the corner
violence in his eyes
whiskey soured on the breath
tongue permeating lies
an outstretched hand
a heavy heart
pulled the hunted from the scene
and wouldn't fall apart
a watchful eye that never dozed
years have passed and she still knows
if you wait until the savage sleeps
the battle is half over
one day there may be peace.

The Ghost

Lights flicker
Shadows dance
Water nearly scalding
Body in a trance
Head down
Eyes closed
A tattooed arm reaches for the sponge
Shows me what he knows
Hands
grip
porcelain
The mirror fogs
Sensory overload
A near ecstatic shock
Gasping a breath
Looking around
Flame went out
Silence is abound

The Oriental Shop

Every Tuesday afternoon, she watched him.
Nestled in the familiar corner of Juliacci's cafe,
ordering the usual tiramisu and water.
Always incognito, with a huge black hat.
The hat not big enough to hide her heart.
To the near right, a boy eager to make extra lira pounds on his drums.
The door to the shop swings open.
Heart skipping a beat, hand shaking as she delicately eats a piece of cake.
The moment has come.
She wonders what he has bought today.
Green tea? Chopsticks? Incense?
Maybe satin sheets.
She shivers.
A mere gondola hand, but the body of a smoldering god.
Rich, black hair, piercing eyes.
She is brave today, and looks up.
He is looking at her.
He nods hello and walks on.
One day she will have him.

Sailor

Thin, afraid
I slept a hole into my own hunger.
What matters is to be
tender like the language crooned to babies.
And I proceeded like a polar explorer,
to cast a line and wait at the luminous shore.
Did they remember back
and dream
the sweet meat of the mango?
So much depends
Upon
so remote a thing.
And, nothing himself, beholds
nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.