Submitted by Neil McKay on January 3, 2016
There is a half glass of red wine
On the table next to your red chair
I don't know where you are but you are not far.
I want to let you know
I am giving up beer
For a time, for my weight, for you.
We will outlast this cold winter
Like we outlasted the last one
We are tough that way, we are enough.
Tomorrow we will get out of bed
Like we always do, like we always will
And do those things we have to do.
Submitted by Neil McKay on January 1, 2016
Your old school has changed
The footprint is the same but
New walls, new windows, new floors
Grace the hallways and classrooms.
In Bothell new restaurants have replaced
Old drugstores. Donut shops are closed
But the Ranch Drive In, that bastion of
Burgers and tartar sauce is still open.
We had onion rings and vanilla cokes
The chemical taste made you sad.
Such are the realities we face
Year after year.
Submitted by Neil McKay on December 13, 2015
This is the stuff of life, isn't it?
The sudden appearance
Of a bulge in the ceiling paint
That was not there yesterday
Before the rains began.
That collection of water waiting
For the pivotal moment
When the weight of the problem
Grows to more than the strength of
latex paint can bear and a small
Weakness becomes a tear and then the rain
That should be running off the roof
Comes down in the bedroom.
This is our lot, this is our life now
So we nail down tarps to protect the
Holes we know are not going away
And when those tarps wear thin
As tarps will do, we will get more tarps
Until something changes.
Submitted by Neil McKay on November 2, 2015
My girl is the best ecdysiast,
Among strippers, she's the least cautiouslysiest
She lacks basic modesty
which makes her the hottest, she
is truly the most heavenlysiest.
Submitted by Neil McKay on October 25, 2015
Your process is inefficient, my love.
The coffee beans are too far removed from the grinder.
A larger scoop would allow you to fill the filter
With less motion and more accuracy.
Heaping scoops have too much variability
Leveling them off would allow for precise measurements.
Morning is the time for peak efficiency
That is why I rise at six even on weekends
As you stretch into the warm blankets I left behind
Reaching for another hour of sleep, and then another
Interrupted by the irregularity of three alarm clocks
At intervals of five, seven and nine minutes.
There is no method to your madness of papers
Carpeting the living room carpet as you sit
On the floor and multitask your weekends
Moving forward but never gaining ground.
My work is organized into bits of data,
Stored redundantly on a server in Texas.
There are better ways to do things, my love
Still my mornings consist of listening for your alarms
Scooping and grinding your coffee with wasted motion.
Estimating the timing to be ready when you rise.
Inelegant procedures that provide continuity
Can hold together a symbiotic system with incredible integrity.
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