I realized today
That the guys I like
Are all older
Not older as in using a walker
But older as in mid 40s
And even a 50s or 2

And I realized that
It was a little weird
At least in my mind

So I passed this
“Huh” moment on to a friend
Who then said
It might take some one
Who has 40 years of maturity
And independence
To handle you

I’m not exactly a wild thing
But I’m not an easy person either
Too much Irish and German
To be
Easily gentled or handled

So I think
She is right

And that
I need to get over it
Being weird
Because it seems that 40+
Does it for me

That Moment

that moment
when you
are so mad
so pissed
so furious
that your options narrow down
into two choices
     punching someone until you are pulled off
     because they have become everyone who has ever
     damaged your soul
          or crying
          until the anger empties itself
          in the form of salt water on your cheeks

that moment
when karma
bitch slaps you in the face and you realize
just what a hag you
have been

that moment
when someone
who didn’t have to
went out of their way
to make you feel

that moment
when you must choose
to be you
or to fit in

that moment
when you realize
you are blessed
with friends
who don’t make you choose
to be you or to fit in
they know who you really are
with all of your imperfections
and cracks in a dirty mirror
for some wonderful reason
they still like you

that moment
when you hope to god
that was not the last thing you will ever say
to that person

that moment
when moving on
is so incredibly terrifying
that you cling
to the last chapter of your life
to what you know
to the devil you understand
rather than risk
the unknown

That moment
when you hold your breathe
because you have made a choice
and are unsure
of how it will play out

these are the moments that define us
shape us into who we are
and make us realize who that really is


Taking clothes into a thrift store
I saw a woman
I knew
The same scar on her eyebrow
That a girl in 4-h had
She rode a black bitch
Of a pony
With a bald face and wide belly
And I remember
The girl never gave up on that bitch
Even though she often had tears of frustration
In her eyes
She never gave up
At least
Not that I saw
The woman in the store
Had a red headed child
Maybe 5
I don’t know
And even though I knew the face
I knew that
I did not know the woman
Or even the girl in my club
If I’m honest about it
It was just a weird flash
Of knowing a face but no name
Of having a memory
But no connection


In a theater
In the one seat row
I’m okay coming alone
There’s something appealing
About the smell of bad hotdogs
Over-buttered popcorn that I consume
In the 1st 20 minutes
And the buzzing chatter that goes on
Before the lights go off
And Even after
The movie has started

I rarely go

To much money
So much bad food
Such a small amount of self control
But occasionally
I break down and want to go
To see a movie
To smell the food
For people-watching
It’s the next best place to a bar
For that hobby
And occasionally
It’s nice
To not be alone

Morning Run

There is something cathartic
In the rain
Tiny drops mist the air
With sweat on your skin
Hot breath
Becomes fog as you exhale
Your feet
Sound gentle on
The softened ground
As you
Stride out
Covering distance
The fallen leaves
Adding to their many colors
And you know that
At the end of
The road
You will turn around
Head back
Through the rain


With the ceiling dark overhead 
The night haunts me
Memories of another me in the same room
Years ago
I've changed 
Irrevocably altered myself
Where does that leave me
In a place where the track remains the same circle 
And all I can do is bounce off the edges 
In a room absent of childhood photos
But whispering childhood dreams all the same
The frames of my life don't fit here
They hang awkwardly on the walls
Tilting and sliding 
I can see the poor fit even in the night's blanket
Do I hang them anyway
Or let them be forgotten
Like the childhood ones were


Sitting downstairs
On cool cement and warm memories
Around me
Sprawls years of my life
Bridle bits pads boots spurs chinks brushes saddles
Soaked with the heavy scent 
Of horse sweat and teamwork
Dusted by rodeos in three different states
Not yet stale from being packed away
But not quite fresh either
A lifetime ago I used these things
Weekly daily hourly
They were my life 
And then 
They weren't 
How does that happen?
Sitting on the floor 
With these pieces of my life 
Unpacked and strewn around me
All I hear is horse breath 
All I smell is dust and sweat and life 
All I feel is the blinding sun as I enter an arena
All I touch are the reins between my fingers
All I see are miles of road in front of truck and trailer
But those are just my memories
Outside the pastures are empty 
The fences falling
The roads to the next arena gone
Where did it all go?
Did it all go?


I wrote this poem years ago and just recently found it. I always find it intriguing, because somehow, a poem is like a flashback for me. I can see and hear and feel what made me write the poem even if those things haven’t crossed my mind in years. So, I hope you indulge my occasional flashback when I come across a relic from my previous years.

Random Sense

If I enjoy being lost does that mean I am not lost

I live in a tiny little yawn of a town that rests unnoticed by most on the side of the interstate

Trust yourself and explore where IT takes you what IT is doesn’t matter

The words together make a painting with no definition

Pancakes and chocolate cake with two-day-old coffee the breakfast of champions

Please do not tell me about the other girls you like I can only take so much.