And Now a Poem

This is one of my early metaphorical poems. Obviously I was very very single at the time.

Inadequate affection
(but sufficient attention)
thrives in my pool.
Where swimmers can float long days
without once touching
the slippery butter slimy floor.

No life saving tubes are by
the edge
discretion and personal skill is all that
frustrates a beginner.
Water wings or not,
my pool is placid, graceful, surprising.

The stability of such a place was
long ago
compromised by monthly passes
separate depth markings,
he and she bathroom stalls,
taller and even taller jumpy boards;
but now can sleep
inert, paralyzed, frozen;

or dance, lively and choppy.

In my pool the gates aren't closed
and the line is not long
the ticket takers booth is as
empty as an orphans hug,
but the water is warm
and the air is sticky and heavy.


If you hate poetry, which I am finding many people do, don't take this one too seriously. If you don't "get it" read it again and think of the emotional rollar coaster of dating and what-have-you when you were seventeen or eighteen years old. There you go.

"Everything you see I owe to spaghetti" - Sophia Lauren

I'm having a hard time figuring out how to start this blog. I want to be witty, like Susannah's blog, so I feel a certain amount of pressure to add humor to every line. On the other hand, this blog is for me. (Ha, that sounds a lot like "this Bud's for you.") It is where I can continue writing--something I love to do and haven't done since graduation. There was a time when I considered myself a "good writer." So let's hope that that little ability hasn't gone by the wayside since the advent of Motherhood...like my, now non-existent, ability to jump on the trampoline without wetting my pants. I guess, all we can do is cross our legs...I mean fingers...and hope.