Letters to 3 Friends

(3 Friend Poems, circa 1990s)


Michael’s Doilies, Revisited

“Don’t put a doily on my plate, please,” proclaims Michael, as he orders a slice of hot cinnamon-apple pie.

“No doily? And why not?” I muse, as Michael gingerly places two fingers on the piece of pie, testing warm-readiness.

Ah, yes, I now see the doilies slipped under the food served at this book-and-coffee shop. The (seemingly) innocuous, lacy, frilly, starched, white paper doilies Michael is so facinated-by-I-mean-adverse-to. Pontificating on the evils of doilies, he gesticulates wildly, jumping up, swinging his arms in great sweeping thrusts, grunting and sputtering and raging against doilism, which, by the way, is real and is a real threat against adoilism, which, by the way, is real…

Michael continues – that scourge heathen pox on the face of the Earth, prim, proper, Victorian, laced-boot, powdered-bosom symptom of all that is bound and gagged and constricted and placed just-so, and snooty-nosed and white-gloved and corseted with powdered bosoms shoved up and spilling-out-over-the-top heaving and jutting…

I imagine, as Michael deftly tears into the hot cinnamon-apple pie, ensnaring the lace filigree with the tines of his probing fork, ripping and rending the delicate paper, thrust and tally, flinging steaming forkfuls of pie in every direction.

I look at Michael – face flushed, chest heaving, eyes wide, ah, yes, I must excuse myself to compose…

To doily or not to doily?


Michael was uncharacteristically quiet after I read this to him.




outside your door

haggard hungry feral felines line

up waiting wanting your scrounged scraps

sacrificed fetus with placenta in return

wood worn smooth underfoot

bare stained feet

your foot propped up on Fool’s leg to grey water wash

fresh food-free at last dishes

over my head

lone chartreuse buzzard flaps

spins on beak

balanced on apex of my “hello kitty”

outside your door

larvaled caked compost to dote upon

sprouts green growing grains

oh the pain of it all


Teri didn’t seem to appreciate this one as much as I thought she would.




He appears before me at the bus station, materializes vivid and vibrating in the cold ice air smiling, gleaming, his face a network of scars and lines.

He seems so happy to see me.

He is a real life cartoon character hopping and shifting from foot to foot, pacing, sashaying on this season’s fix of choice.

“It was either jail, rehab, or the homeless shelter,” he quips, winking and bouncing. An overgrown bobblehead. So I’m staying at the mission,” he boasts.

I obligingly give him a wide-eyed nod. Silent.

A raggedy old man shuffles past. I see them exchange familiar glances.

“Do you like it?” I offer. Oblique.

He grins at my cliche.

“It beats the streets,” he chirps on cue.

A bus pulls up to the terminal, screeching and groaning.

“Will you ever stop?” I wonder. Aloud.

He squints over my shoulder and studies an imaginary locus on the terminal wall.

“No,” he casually throws over his shoulder as he boards the bus.


I never read this to Mark.



Dear Read-All-The-Way-Throughers-

I’m consumed with an upcoming move (for real this time) and a massive editing deadline, so this blog is on hiatus until NaNoWriMo (November 1).

Have a spooky fall, and a surreal Halloween!



Butterfly Poem, cica 1990’s

Photo by Wibowo Djatmiko, a Wikipedia contributor.


tiny yellow butterfly left traces of itself on my windshield


tiny yellow butterfly

floating, flitting, fanning by

freely frolicks in the sun


against my windshield

yellow powder came undone

talcum on the glass window

powdered shield – I feel so low

yellow dust from tiny wings

tells a tale on speeding things

tempered glass and stainless steel

cruising in my death mobile


2 Time Poems, circa 1990s


So How Does this Time Thing Work?


I Am Distracted by the Passing of Moments


but now becomes then

now a new now– NOW!

then– then, and again and again

each now becoming then

you can go way back when

a zillions thens

each one having been

a now

when now was then


So How Does this Time Thing Work (part 2)


Our Limited Comprehension Cannot Grasp Time Traveling in More than One Direction

you can pull a now to then

but can you push a now to when?

when being (for now)

a now from now

then when upon when

a zillion whens then

each one becoming

a now

when now would be when


We Need Coffee Contest, Fall 2011

The Automat


Play the above video to hear the contest question.

Find the answer *somewhere* in Whittington’s blog.

And please don’t ask him for the answer, I’ve already asked him to not give it away!

Good Luck!

Rules, details, and other fussy stuff:

1. Answer the relevant question in the video correctly in a comment to this post (below).

2. Participants may leave more than 1 comment, but the first comment-answer by a specific participant will be the only answer counted from said participant.

3. What constitutes a “correct answer” will be determined by me.

4. Winner will be randomly selected (using an online random number generator) from all correct entries.

5. Winner will be awarded a $10 gift certificate to Larry’s Beans.

6. Deadline is Friday, October 7, 2011.

7. In the event of “no correct answers,” this contest expires on Friday, October 7, 2011.

8. The certificate will be emailed to the winner’s email address within 1 week after said winner provides said email address to me.

9. Not responsible for lost or misdirected email.

10. I’m not affiliated with Larry’s Beans, I just think this is a cool-as-beans prize! Good luck!



Sip of coffee heats

A leaf falls, covers my cup

Embittered tisane



Dunkin’ Donuts





One must drink the unseen caffeine doom

And then use their obscene latrine room


10-7 UPDATE: No certificate winner in this contest. Visit The Automat and search for “coffee” to see what you missed!

Check out the update on my last flash fiction challenge!