Tag Archives: boomerang switcheroo

The Mirror Salesman

The Mirror Salesman works in a new suit each day,
a uniform policy in his company.

“Do you watch that program?  Ha, me too!”
“And wouldn’t you know, we wear the same shoe!”

The trick is in knowing which mirror to bring.

Some want ’em dusty.
“Heck, who likes to clean?”
Others, real rusty.
“A throwback look, I know what you mean.”

Some want cutting edge in technology.
“The polish from Kansas, the glass, Tennessee.”

Choosing what to reflect is always the thing.
“The new barcalounger,
the deluxe china hutch?”

His answers are smooth, he doesn’t say much.
“It seems happy right here,”
he says of the mirror, his voice with a ring.

“Why look at it shine, I’d wish it were mine,
it sure makes  the room,  it couldn’t be clearer.”

And when you’re not looking, he’ll quickly glance down.
“Well look at my lace, it’s time to replace!”

And wouldn’t you know,
that salesman of mirrors,
he also sells string.

Life Is a Suitcase

Daybreak in a
Closed  airport lounge bar
A delivery boy passes, catches
First flight, new stretchy orange
Magic suitcase on hand;
Empty, he wants to bring it back
Maybe let it out,
Never return at all,
Fill it with souvenirs from
Afar. Years peel by, one last time he
Flies and an X-ray technician
Flags this


Brimming with
Where you
Man, nice tan, where
You been,
And where’d
You get
Those clothes


Stored, Like A Tape Recorder on Pause

Jiggling atoms as
Though the sun taught trees
A dance,
One only fire knows,

Practice practice practice,
And with a dry ignite
The jiggling begins anew

Heat rays
Stored in trees,
When lit, activated,
Set free

Rhythmic and in tune
With the universe
And sun beams
And kindling and the wind.


Steel like no other
Drum’s younger
Juicy brother

Melodies bounce
As sunlit eddies
Course streams

’round pebbles
And the sticks! so
Round on round

Not one sour grape
The bunch be found
And had my island

Trees dropped note-
Stones cast from carefree
Palms and tossed

In liquid metal
Wells their journey’d
Sound no sweeter.

Maybe A Beret

If I thought no one
Was looking

I’d brave
the streets of Paris

Wear hats
the locals shun,

Bellow from
busy bridges

In wobbly
Foreign tongues

Deep breaths
Would fuel my poems

Butcher names
Of cheeses

Wouldn’t care
a drop

And smile
For those who

Then carry on
To shop.

Masked Souls Harvest Sugar

Beneath sheets,
Sweaty makeup,
Sweet pleas,

Rung in sugar

Let loose
In the image of another,

Candy bloodlust
Rises like a harvest moon
As the child inside
Runs free.

A Movie I Want To Write

I want him running
For a train
That’s already gone

I want her loving
The man
The villainous con

I want
Swan song chances
Clandestine romances

Undying professing
Sweaty hair messing
The bright harvest moon
The sleepless new sun

For high-tech
FBI secrets, chases, money by gun.