It’s Hard to Hear the Beauty Anymore
 
 
I’m in my study adding words
to other words as if that will make
some kind of difference, and you perhaps
are slicing onions or running
spreadsheet projections or waiting
for the elevator to reach Floor 9.
Or you’re just playing your ukulele a little
before work, because it always seems
to calm you. But maybe not today,
because all this noise flood your head
like wind chimes in a gale—you can’t
turn them off, it’s hard to hear the beauty
anymore, what with cable news on
all the time, not to mention the weather
channel, robocalls, the neighbor yelling
at her dog or her toddler, you’re never
sure which, but on you strum, as if
some rickety old tune you half-recall
from your Dad’s collection of vintage
78s will be your homemade avenue
out of the clamor and muck of this day,
and to your surprise, it is. It suddenly is.
 
 
 
 
How Are You Liking Your First Few Bites?
 
 
It’s hard to photograph food--
those glossy diner menus
with close-up chicken chunks
awash in gravy the color
of storm runoff nudge your
appetite, sure, but in the wrong
direction.  There’s good reason
that the higher-end the restaurant,
the dimmer the lights.  Everything,
not just your beloved’s
winsome smile, looks better
by candlelight.  Then there’s
the problem of cheap printing--
that Caesar salad looks like
an aerial view of a landfill
unless you hire Edward Weston
to photograph it, and pay him
to put it on fine paper, not this
sturdy plastic-coated stuff
that makes all food look like
it’s already been eaten.
 
Besides, the smell’s always
better than the first bite,
anyway, and forget about
the steam rising from the pasta
or light filtering through a glass
raised in toast—you can’t eat
the same meal twice, you know,
just as we both know it won’t
stop either of us from trying.