a funny poem
but all that comes out
is moldy cheese
unsuitable for the omelet
that was also part 
of today's plan
then there was the dead deer
you keep remembering
and the black cloud of vultures circling
it seems things just keep going from
gloom to doom to worse
then when all hope plummets
the sun peek-a-boos
out the front door and gives you
a righteous shove
sending you down the street 
to the park
where the Columbia Park Since 1891 sign
welcomes you
and sure enough kids' giggles
totaling 127 years
of laughs reach your ears
then the old man appears whose blind dog
leads him down paths
where squirrels and crows wait for them
as he hugs a bag of peanuts 
then flings them
it gets better
here are the ghosts
they hover in the cedars
where they gather every morning
to snicker at the squirrels
and believe the crows are gossips
but mostly the ghosts 
flit around and philosophize
decide the world isn't ready
to implode or explode
when old men still feed creatures
at 6am
and they get to stand guard
so now you go home 
make your omelet
decide a little mold
isn't going to hurt you
                        

he's old now
still dreams of salmon and rivers
the woman he loved
what seems forever ago
he thinks they really were so similar
but today he sits wheelchair still
stares out the nursing home window
waiting and watching
like his days in the drift boat
and how those fish 
& now these tiny birds 
fill him with recognition 
of kin
a reason to breathe in
breathe out
                        

on Burnside
you look for the #8 bus on the Portland street
where back 100 years
liquor, whores, and sailors
crowded the alleys
but now it's a relentless rain
March cold night
and you wonder about lives
so far 
from what you have ever known
but you don't stare
but still you see 
under store front stoops 
bodies curled
in forever wet bags
rusty grocery carts full of mystery
with tattered tarp protection
then slips of moon and clouds
share bits of light
and you see 
a couple hovered together
his hands stroke warmth to her rag-covered legs 
sweet intimacy this dark night
and a hard rain
is still going to fall