Written by Sandee Gertz. Posted in Poetry.
The pill you swallow will always be the sugar pill.
Going up, going down, both require the best shoes.
What to do with too many peaches, rubber bands, clocks, husbands,
Too many pictures of women in gardens, too many ifs,
Too many dreams where someone says “get out of my house.”
It takes a suit to make a lawyer, it takes a horse to make a cowboy.
Cherophobia: the fear of being happy.
There is only one way to make gunsmoke.
A tall woman marries a short man, she reaches for things, he tickles.
Pharmacists know the side effects of hope.
In an afternoon you can cut your hair, your nails, you can cut the crap,
The light, a trail, you can cut across, cut in, out and up.
The president of your senior class lives in poverty in New Mexico.
He’s survived being hit by a piece of space debris,
And his name is not Paul Pancake anymore.
He is a happy man.
A hospice nurse sings to a dying man.
In the morning his bed is empty,
His pillow warm, his shoes are gone.
Sing a song,
Save a life.
Spin the bottle, pick a card, don’t look back.
At night the chairs grow restless and chase the sofa.
