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Christmas Cookies
The pleasure of holiday baking,
The stress of time.
Mix and measure, butter, sugar, eggs.
Stir in flour, soda, salt, and spice.
Drop with careful teaspoons,
Roll gently, cut, and shape.
But don't lick the beaters!
Oh, I miss that exquisite indulgence
Of subtle sweetness, stolen tastes.
Another ritual lost to the aggressive
Evolution of biological pathogens.
I miss, too, sitting at the kitchen table with my sisters.
Piles of cookies, bowls of color.
Yellow, blue, green, pink, red and, white.
Sugar crystals sparkling red, green, and yellow.
Silver balls, chocolate sprinkles, red hots, colored balls.
Who can frost the most, eat the most, decorate the best?
Or another kitchen with my son and his friends.
Still too young to spurn these family rituals.
Boys adding their own decorations of
Guns and genitals and leering grins.
Why do I do this ritual baking,
This work appreciated only in its consumption?
Because it is part of Christmas
And Christmas should be more than
Shopping and wrapping and rush.
Christmas is family and love and tradition.
I do it because it connects me to
Christmas past, present, and to come.
Laundry
Piles of laundry waiting for me.
Never done, always there.
Demanding drudgery, stealer of time.
Sort the colors: black, white, other.
Sort the weight: Heavy, medium, delicate.
I miss the rough texture
Of a pillowcase line-dried on a windy day,
It seemed like the whole outdoors was in bed with me.
But the cost of this small pleasure -
Baskets heavy with laundry, day after day.
Never enough pins, or line.
Jeans so stiff we thought they'd crack if we moved.
But, not so bad as the lye-roughened hands
And washboard-worn knuckles my Grandmother knew.
Gone, too, the birth wracked bodies, weakened by
Too many children and too much work.
Exchanged for the soul wearying politics
Of office and marketplace.
Piles of paper waiting for me. |
Catching A Plane
Got a plane to catch today. Hurry up and wait.
Rush to pack the bags. Make sure it's all here.
Presentation and handouts. Pens and paper.
Names and titles. Addresses and directions.
Extra hose and makeup kit. Kleenex and cough drops, just to
be sure.
Drive to the airport in time for security checks.
Make it to the gate too early for once.
Breakfast on caffeine and calories, waiting to board.
Check for belongings and get in line.
Hope the baby is in another row.
Stash the bag, buckle the belt.
Take a deep breath of stale air and sanity.
Settle in for the ride.
Say a prayer, try to relax. Review the pitch.
Refuse the coffee, have some water.
Check your watch once more.
Get your bags, stand in the aisle.
Wait for the door to open.
Shuffle outside, hurry to curb side.
Hope the cabbie knows how to drive.
Get to the meeting, make a quick check
For hair out of place and food in the teeth.
Shake hands and smile and joke, but listen intently.
Present your case and ask for the sale.
Check next steps and try to read the future.
Say good-bye and wait for the cab.
Hope you've gauged the traffic right.
Back through security, check in at the gate.
Through the door as it closes.
Stash the bags, buckle the belt.
And hope it's all worth the struggle.
Downsized
The boss says business is slow
And I'm not needed any more.
Downsized, rightsized, riffed, fired - again.
Need some time to regain my self-esteem,
Reassess my value, rewrite my resume.
Need to get the story straight.
Make both of us look good.
Time to call everyone I know,
Or know about.
Network, shmooze, invegel, contact.
Scope out the market,
Position myself.
Downsized, again.
Damn! |
