RADIO NIGHT

She would turn the lights off,
my older sister would,
as the “Inner Sanctum”
came on the radio.

You know, the “creaking door”
opening sounds.

Everyone and everything
about those nights
are gone.

©T.Puma/MMXII

THANK YOU

Arigatou! Arigatou!
Let me thank you,
once again.
That my English
cannot express
so emphatically;
Arigatou! Arigatou!

©T.Puma/MMXII

OVI

The farmer yodels,
“Free-range chickens.”

Selling jumbo brown eggs
with shells smooth as baby’s skin.

Proletariat protein
for 4 bucks.

I buy.

I walk home daydreaming:
sunny side-up,
Taylor ham,
whole wheat toast,
butter and jam.

Blindsided by a bicyclist
carton a-flyin’.
Eggs away!
Explode on pavement.

“All the king’s horses
and all the king’s men ….”

Humpty Dumpty redux.


©T.Puma/MMXI

HAIRCUT

“In this world of toil and sin,
your head gets bald
but not your chin,
Burma Shave.”


Pot-on-head style in PS 159.
“D.A.” cut on Brooklyn streets.
Army sheared me like a lamb,
(for slaughter?)

Slick and shiny I was cruising Queens Boulevard.
A casual neglect at NYU.
Over ears like John, Paul, George and Ringo.
Cut for business on Madison Avenue.

Thinning
counting hairs
on brush.


Stylists
try to make what’s left
look good.

Gray.
Short.
Shaved.

Damn you, Narcissus.



©T.Puma/MMXII

HAIKU (17)

Chinese friends a-buzz/
Dragon dances on hard-wood/
number seventeen.

©T.Puma/MMXII

AMOR VINCIT OMNIA (VIA NJ)

From Closter to Cape May
and exit to exit between.
We want to be married-gay,
and enjoy the legal scene.

“Love knows no bounds,”
and is gender neutral.
Call-off the hounds
let’s just have mutual

respect for each other
as part of our existence.
I am, after all, your brother,
so understand this insistence.

To be a couple, and post our Banns
to be a Jerseyan, full-measure.
To walk down the aisle, holding hands,
“be still my heart”, for this pleasure.

© T.Puma/MMXII

AUBADE

As I lay by your side
I am aware,
morning sunlight through
Astorian window.

Love consummated,
out of slumber, I stare,
at your face, reflected
in that golden glow.

The contours in that gleam
I want to trace,
but loathe to waken
repose ethereal.

Like being blind, my fingers
on your face,
for fear, I'm dreaming,
and this be not real.

Our bodies contrast and
compliment,
a companionship throughout
the night.
In colors, ecru and gold
pigment,
brought together in reaching
a height.

Glorious summer sun of New York,
where,
you bathe my love in your
warm glow.
But, my loves' gloss,
is now my glare,
how you do hasten me to go.

©T.Puma/MMX

J.C.

To be lost in
Jersey City
traversing
dark, empty
streets
leading nowhere.

My sense of geography
and humor
eludes me.

I blow my horn in frustration
pray for early dawn.

?Donde tunnel?
my ticket home.

TP/MMXII