ode to my birkenstocks

sole-mates I am barely
clothed in you
so easy to slide into
walking me
away from suits

you’ve taken me
to places high-
class shoes would fear
you relish luscious mud &
sand & bits of twigs
that hang on tightly
to your treads

I am besotted birkies
with the child in you
who tastes & smudges

oh you messy shoes
this simple-minded
search for ground
may wear us down
you mortal stumble-bums

Ode to My Stained-Glass Poppy Hanging

Oh, precious bits
of shiny glass and lead,
you brought quick tears
when I first saw you
bending sun in my direction:
prismed shades of red & green
reflecting life ahead--
as if you knew we'd be
together forty years & more,
your octagon illuminating
poppies' promise: many highs,
though sometimes, too,
bereavement--I, a veteran
of desperate wars fought silently
on well-known soils of motherhood,
divorces, failures, and too many
friends and lovers lost.
The artist who brought you to life
unknowingly created the one jewel
I have treasured over any other,
traveling with me to start
a new life, adding radiance
to brighten shades of gray,
inviting me to look outside & in
with contemplation, asking always
that I see the light.

ode to my coffee grinder

you’re red sweet thing
and hot to go though not
so hot that you abide

the residue of peppers

which my ex  the con-man
tricked you into grinding

no you thrive on dark
French roast   I hear your sigh 
when I approach  you dear

I fear that we have secrets

you and I because

though born at Starbucks
you disdain their beans

our secret love is Midnight Oil
the 15 seconds waiting
we think only taste

and yes we hate the cleaning
much like coming
down from orgasm