Squirrelly Beat

Its tiny little feet
beat across the top of the fence
like claw hammers
playing a slat-key xylophone.

Murphy’s paws sped
to an Aussie’s four-four time,
but the critters tune
was an octave too high.

Ring Tone Number Four

I heard the competition
bellied-up like a Chinese carp;
a sweet and sour rumor
caddish tongues couldn't wait to take out.

If true,
my phone will sing itself hoarse;
ring tone number four on the menu.

A Walk In The Light

Stepping stones of sunlight,
with hardwood cracks between,
led from the bay window blinds
to the marble masked fireplace.

I stepped on each,
tip toeing
back and forth,

looking for enlightenment
to shoot up my bones, and
jolt my cluttered cranium
into organized order and solace.

But, all I got was a path of swept floor
and a pair of dirty socks.

Better Times

The moon trudged
across the night sky
like a bag-lady dressed
in dirty, stringy rags.
Her rusty wire cart
left a trail of faded stars;
wheels eerily squealing
from ghosts of better times.