Thank you for visiting my poetry site. I started writing poems to help me understand things better. It’s a tool I use to crack open a subject and poke around. If you have any thoughts feel free to contact me. I want to thank the editors who publish my work.  Be well. Michael


My father puts the milk carton 

on the kitchen table. Declares, She bought it – 

before. The two glasses tremble. I know worship 


and gratitude. I know love, taught by tender example 

and backs of hands, thrift. 

And that I am a spoiled child at sixty 


because, until three days ago, both my parents 

were alive, and as long as both your parents live, old 

as you get, you are not an adult.


I do the math: she has been gone exactly seventy-three hours. 

The stamp on the carton warns the milk expired five days ago. 

The pulmonologist alerted me it was a matter of hours.

And they were married two months shy of sixty-five years. 


On special occasions, she’d put out fresh melon, cubed

and stuck with frilly toothpicks. He half fills both glasses 

to make our toast, take our communion, 


our poison. I know that the Bible says I owe. That 

his word is law in this house. That in one night a wounded man 

can wander a lifetime in a 600 foot apartment. 


And how to fake swallow, then spit it out. 

—Appeared in The Lascaux Review, 2018