Posted by: hshuler | July 26, 2012

My Sunday morning obscene phone caller

wears his hair in a radical comb-over

when I meet him for coffee at Denny’s.

Everyone knows his mother, the trouble.

I thank him for calling,

and compliment his stellar blue eyes,

ask does he know how purely beautiful

they would look, glowing from the bare skin

of his shapely naked head? My attempt

to answer his word bubbles from the bottom of the sea

that cling to a wish as they loft

through the weight of dark stone water

with hope that someone will hear them surface

Down here, look! Orange and purple starfish

longs to reflect in eyes and astonish

fingers to find a fossil-like oddity still has

life and movement inside.



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