often they fall from the sky

the angels that attempt flight
with hinged bent wings;
crash onto fields
are ones I want
to heal

their imperfections,
cuts and hurt, lying,
on the snapped
parted red cane
by their heart- breaking free fall.

I gather one up,
toss her in the back of my pickup.
adding to the collection of tragedies
which fill my home

Other damaged angels,
whom I had brushed dirt off
sewn new pearly buttons on
still wear dingy gowns;
with torn fabric
that once were spectacular
their white glint
blinding in the sun,
now stand in my living room.

I cannot
hold back the hands
of a clock
to prevent time from moving
without breaking them

relentlessly, I know
they’ll never stop trying
to fly.

**

Exposed
-for  Lacey

By the bed she dances,
a tease before the action
you wished for
her as a lover,
a sharp thought,
no more real than
a photograph,
held up, miles away
to a gray sky,
you prayed for,
one more cloud
you wanted
to be inside her
but the clouds
have no space for you
either

imagine the rain
exploding long before
it ever happens

her hair
how it flows a
split-second
behind the pirouette.

**

Salmon Fishing In Alaska

They passed the flyers out on campus
to make $10,000 working with experienced fisherman,
we, the kid drunks, said yes, to adventure, to money,
north to Alaska, we loudly sang The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald,

on Day One, a bad omen, Cappy, the skin on his face
a relief map of experience said, welcome boys,
we’ll supply you with the beer…that first day,
the five of us college boys went through two cases.

Only a few people blamed us, especially…us,
after Cappy’s little speech about too many fish
reeled in could sink the boat, or one shoe-lace
in a net could toss you, or that knife might take a few fingers.

Risk takers? We were more like the dogs, cats, and ducks,
from the Little Red Hen. Who will cask the net?
Not I, said the duck, Who will store the fish? Not I.
Who will sit on the deck with a beer, cash the check?
Yes, yes, we will do that. And we did.

Day Two, we got cut off, no beer, contract broken,
Maybe it had something to do with Rob, his sustained
horror movie scream when the first haul
flopped on the deck, “They’re alive! Oh my God!”

Teddy pushed Cappy against the cabin wall,
I don’t think this is working out, Teddy said as
Jerry was throwing up over the starboard side, hangover,
nothing to do with sea legs, no sir, we told the captain.

By the end of the week, two of us had rounded into shape
but our other friends stayed in Egegik, catching zzzs instead,
of salmon while we suffered through Cappy’s berating for
half the fish he’d expected were lost in those musty cots.

By Friday he’d asked us to move on, but no goodbyes,
no, Fellas it’s been good to see ya, To know ya,
only good to Fire ya, with a look of disgust,
as we went to get wrecked.