Chopping Ginger

I'm not sure I did it right
It might have been wrong
Like the tomatoes
Or the mushrooms
I peeled it like a potato
Saturday mornings
Slivering brown strips
Off starch bombs
The smell is different
Better
The skin is tan
and underneath is pale yellow
Cutting ginger is less dangerous
than slicing potatoes
Ginger is cooperative
Dividing itself into smaller
and smaller minced bits
It's because of that aroma
Ginger knows that with
Each increase in surface area
The bouquet is more divine.

Disposal Fees

Missing parts, dry, cracked plastic, bent metal, torn fabric
Unsafe, uncool, unfashionable, dirty, worn
Green beans, powdered milk, fruit cocktail
Sometimes I wonder if folks just donate stuff
so they don't have to pay for disposal
Objects foisted upon us under the guise
of generosity pile up around the house
creating habitats for mice, mosquitoes, black widows
I have even less resources to dispose of it

bitter divorcee

an american indian woman enjoying indian summer
abnormally warm fall weather named after her
she basked in almost hot sunshine and a lick of coolness
--slobbered all over skin mounted receptors
earth on the downward slope

"i'm not with stupid anymore"
was thrust haphazardly on the trunk left corner
wanting to be flip, but still bearing the pain
of the loss of income, status
still screaming the horror of not being the younger
telomeric ends slowly snipped away
never to be reattached, by the sharp shears
of that old bilaghaana time

she wiped static off her thinning mane, streaked white
an american indian woman enjoying indian summer
she relished the lick of teen clothing draped over
her abnormally thin, almost anorexic flesh
--size 0, it made her better, not stupid, absolved her
of sins, woman on the downward slope.

Being Sick

Great volumes of snot clog the fine spaces in my skull
Great halls normally filled with air wave vibrations
Have now ground to a halt with bacterial gridlock

Water Fountain

The janitor was cleaning
the water fountain with the mop.
Mrs. Kavadas was walking down the hall
I expressed how gross it was that the janitor
was cleaning the water fountain with a dirty mop,
in only the way a teenager can.
Mrs. Kavadas' eyes bulged with anger
and she said, "Well what do you expect!
YOU always spit in there."

Up until that moment, and to this moment
I have never spit in a water fountain.

Most of us people don't spit in water fountains.

Watered down coffee

At least everyone has the same orange sunrise
that I have, and breathes the same polluted air
Parabolic clotheslines dangle shirts and jeans
Evaporating water, Absorbing power plant smell
While I sip watered down coffee behind glass doors

All Your Fault

There are crumbs on my floor and it's all your fault
Wallow in the itchy dirt on my sheets
Hobble around, heels dented by pebbles in my shoes
My hair stuck with static to my face growing acne mountains
Dog farting sideways (borrowed from a friend).

That's all your fault too.