Sunday, January 20, 2008

have you ever re-rented a movie that you just paid a late fee for?

I am so busy that I am paying late fees for movies I don’t have time to watch or return. But more distressing is that I most recently rented a movie that I don’t even want to see, which I decided after I brought it home, so I refuse to see it and now it’s late. And even more distressing is that I did want to see it when it came to the theaters but then I saw Once two weeks ago and I’ve been so depressed since then that I can’t stand the idea of watching any movie that has anything to do with love, so that pretty much rules out movies all together. Especially Waitress, which is still on my desk, never seen, and three days late.

Friday, January 11, 2008


The plaid woman picking oranges
smells like dinner for her husband.
I wonder if I smell like selfishness,
or mushrooms.
Nutmeg, parsley, paper towels, garlic press—
the plaid woman probably remembered her list.
She probably knows how to make biscuits from scratch,
and has more than one use for her almond extract.

This is the way, this is the way, this is the way
of wedded things. This is how we come to be
lasciviously eyeing the cheese graters. This is how
we come to be wrestling with plastic wrap,
trying to save the leftovers. This is how we become
eternities of Teflon queens, lovingly filling the ice trays.

Monday, January 7, 2008

smart girl

I have more wit
than I have tit.

I have more quip
than hip.

I have more crass
than I have ass,

and more blunt
than I have wunt
or need of.

Saturday, January 5, 2008

penguin dreams

Because he wanted to fly, the little penguin fashioned himself some wings.

He gathered twigs, some downy moss, and string, and whatever else he saw that he thought might make a wing. That he had been cold for a very long time was enough to make him believe that a penguin could fly. He spent endless hours watching the way the wind moved the clouds across the sky and he thought, Why can’t I?

While the dawn was just beginning to loose fiery tendrils streaming through the air, the little penguin trekked up to the top of a snow peak, and stood there. He put his wings on, those made from the scantest of things, and he thought, I don’t’ know if they’ll work, but I’ll try.

Hope is the dream of a flightless bird whose only wish is to fly.