If a Bogotano

If a Bogotana had this many cleaning supplies, she'd be a professional cleaner.
And he'd be a mountaineer with this hiking stuff, or with just one carabiner.
A Bogotano with this garage would not complain that it's too small.
He'd be a full-time carpenter with just one little stall.
With this moderate stash of polish, he'd be out there shining shoes.
And he'd only have two carboys if he was selling what he brewed.
A Bogotana would be a tailor with this nice sewing machine
and these two bikes would give a job to two Bogotano teens.
They don't need these two mowers– they'd mow parks with a string trimmer.
and they would have an office with these desks and macs and printer.
A Bogotano would start a bookstore with the books on just this case.
But rather than go into business, we keep busy just looking for space!

Seam Ripper

There she goes again,

ripping out the seams.

Doesn't she know

it will leave holes?

I wish I could hold it all 

together for her.

She thinks she might be

better off alone.

Bits of thread

lie scattered on the ground

while the bobbin spins

around, around.

And there she goes again,

ripping out the seams.

Half a Year

My baby is six months old,
that wiggly, giggly baby of mine–
that holdable, foldable baby
who is with me almost all the time.
That rooting, scooting baby
could soon get up and go.
Gone is the snarfing, barfing baby
that I used to know.

Half a year– where's it gone?
Or better, where has it taken us?
From Bogotá to the "big" SuFu,
by car, airplane, and public bus.

What have I done, in these six months
since the morning I gave  birth?
Each day I've had the same mother duties,
There's been no big change in my "net worth."

But a year is a circle, so half a year
must be about one hundred and eighty degrees.
And that's how much a baby can change
and how much a baby is changing me.

Sitting

If you're a Martha, not a Mary,
think twice before you have a baby
and plan on spending lots of time
just sitting at His feet.
Make all your many preparations
but don't forget about the patience
because, above all else
that's the thing you're going to need.
And they will ask, "What do you do?"
And you will ask yourself that, too.
And you must find your answer
while sitting at His feet.

Don't Get Old

"Don't get old!" she says to me.
(She is ninety-two.)
But I'm not sure there's anything else
that I can do.

Knowing that I am still young
and knowing what I don't,
sometimes I wish for long-term age
on a short-term loan.

Someday I'll know a life's worth; now
I make do with what I do.
If I keep doing what I'm doing,
soon I'll be ninety too.

Do-It-Yourselfishness

It's good if you like to do it yourself.
We like to do it ourselves, ourselves.
Home cooking, home brewing, and self home repair––
we birth our own babies, we build our own shelves.

It's good to take pride in the work that you do,
and we learn a lot when we get involved.
But when pride leads to pride that cuts off from others
then do-it-yourselfishness is what it's called.

Do-it-yourselfishness looks at the world
and says "I won't pay for what I can make,"
without thinking of work that others have done
and thanking them for the ideas that we take.

In our busy lives as do-it-yourselfers
we've probably saved a buck or two.
We've learned-it-ourselves when we've done-it-ourselves:
do-it-yourselfishness is easy to do.

The amazing DIY lung-powered snot-sucker.
Snot-sucker + tubing = proud parents.

When Grace Is What I Need

I cling to you like cicada shells,
as hollow as a bead.
I want you to fill me up
when grace is what I need.

I look to you like a little child
just learning how to read.
I want you to say I'm right
when grace is what I need.

I come to you like a punctured tire,
on a car still guaranteed.
I want you to change me quick
when grace is what I need.

I wait for you like a passenger
impatient for your speed.
I want you to come right now
when grace is what I need.

Chicken Coop

He's building me a chicken coop
that rolls around the yard,
so dealing with the chicken poop
shouldn't be too hard.

He's making sure this chicken coop
is structurally sound.
We'll have to get the neighbors' help
to roll the thing around!

Blood-Chocolate Level

That's why I've been cranky–
my blood-chocolate was low!
That's why life was dim and dark.
I'm glad that now I know.
It's bad to be in a bad mood,
but you know what's even worse?
When you don't know why you're in it–
now that's a double curse.

Berserker

Stir-crazy

future's hazy

seasonal worker

turned berserker

when I know

which way to go

you will see

no stopping me.

Good Sabbath

Oh, Good Sabbath, welcome rest!
Come put up your feet.
Sit with me upon the couch
and thank God for this week.
But first, Good Sabbath, let me ask:
would you like a cup of tea?
Or coffee, water, juice or milk?
A little bite to eat?
Good Sabbath, are you comfortable?
I wish the house was clean!
It's just I've been so busy–
you know what I mean.
Good Sabbath, I'll be right there.
Just one more thing to do.
If I just finish this a minute
I can concentrate on you.
Okay, Sabbath, now I'm done.
Good Sabbath, where'd you go?
You left before I had a chance.
Why, I'll never know.

Toys for My Baby

Toys for my baby–
what would she enjoy?
Based on trends of past forays,
she'd like these kinds of toys:
a mobile made of scissors,
needles, awls, and pliers,
on long strings hanging to her reach
(no fun if they were higher);
a playmat made of plastic sacks,
and books to tear apart;
a toybox full of tissues, chords,
and brightly colored darts.

I take away the cable
she has found to chew.
Of course she starts to cry.
I say, "Oh, I love you!
And that is why I put away
these things that are so fun.
I love you more than you love them.
Your fun is far from done."

If you find it morbid
to rhyme of deathly toys,
think of all your vices–
those dangers you enjoy.

Go Big or Go Home

You win some, you lose some,
most of us go on with either.
We say, "Go big or go home,"
but some can go neither.
It's not that they're afraid to take a risk.
they've just got nothing left to lose,
no goods left to proffer,
no option left to choose.
Life is not fair.
Some have the shorter end.
And me with the bigger–
can I be their friend?
When they must choose between two evils,
Can I give a third choice?
Can I speak for those
with no home, no way, no voice?

Walls

One wall for the dressers,
one wall for the closet,
two walls for the one big bed.

One wall for the couch,
one wall for the chairs,
two walls for the books we've read.

Sometimes I dream of
pickaxes, sledgehammers
and banging through walls with my head.

Go Away, Robin

Go away, robin,
for now it is autumn.
Leaves, fall down,
and geese, fly south.

Go away, evenings
and hide in the night.
Sun, set early,
and bonfires, light!

Each Day a Poem

I want to write a poem each day.
I just need something good to say.
And if there's nothing to be said,
I'll write one anyway.

It's good for me to think and write
to keep perception in my sight.
And so I'll make each day a poem,
and dream of verse each night.

"Why start today?" you'd like to know.
Just because it's time to go.
Seize the chance; start when you can
to make each day a poem.