poet, interviewer, musician, traveler
The Man I Was(n’t)
I’m not the man I was
or the man I pretended to be
I’ve shed that skin
stepped into the new glory of self
I was given a mouse’s moniker
standing by the bus one afternoon
my first glimpse of a world
beyond the walls of expectation
later still, one strap down,
triangle pendant flashing,
I danced to Erasure and felt
a gate open in my chest
it closed again
but not forever
/ / /
1 May 2025
Charlottesville VA
POND LEHOCKY
I love the way you type your PIN
like it only works if you attack your phone
as if the screen knows you want in
but it would prefer you to leave it alone
perhaps it’s trying to save your brain
from Bezos and Musk and all their goons
maybe it knows they’re such a drain
it would rather you just watch cartoons
I like the sides of you that I have seen
on adventures or around the house
right up until you break your screen
I’m glad I get to be your mouse
/ / /
29 April 2025
Charlottesville VA
close
every encounter is a mixture
of delight and regret
I’m pushing the big rock
up a steep hill
am I strong enough to let go?
will it roll over me?
my headphones block the sound of the train
as it carries me fa(r)ther away
past a hundred rectangles
divided into a thousand rectangles
I turn on Coltrane, sit back
watch the blurry trees
/ / /
19 April 2025
Washington D.C.
all aboard
a train is a good place
to write a poem
even a train that hasn’t left yet
is full of possibility
a train puts me at ease
no traffic, no tolls
no need to navigate
just ride the rails
until you get to your station
it’s a terrible metaphor for life
but my favorite way to travel
/ / /
19 April 2025
Charlottesville VA
mayflies
mayflies dead on the streets of Selma
mayflies dead on the Edmund Pettus Bridge
David and I are there to remember
to pay our respects, to see
but everywhere we look
the streets and sidewalks are covered
with drifts of mayfly carcasses
heaps of translucent white wings
uncountable numbers of corpses
we try not to step on them
it’s all but impossible
we walk with a sickening crunch
across that weighty bridge
emerging on the other side
two white people unscathed
on a field of the dead
/ / /
18 April 2025
Charlottesville VA
this place is nowhere
I have learned nothing
about this place
I know the route from home to work
from home to Wegmans
from home to downtown
when my partner drives back
to their other place
I don’t know which direction they go
most days I seem to be floating
like Fenchurch in the Adams book
never quite touching the ground
today someone from afar
told me I’m flourishing
my sister says my life is stable
my kids, well, I’m never sure about them
but me? I’m here but not here
like a main street façade
built for a movie
it looks real if you don’t get too close
don’t peek around the back
don’t see the beams
propping up the illusion
I’m a dusty western town
tumbleweeds blowing through
a short hop from the highway
that goes everywhere and nowhere
/ / /
17 April 2025
Charlottesville VA
abracadabra
no matter how many times I hear
the magic trick that was Art Tatum
I can never figure out how he did it
how his mind leapt as if he’d never
heard of the law of gravity
how his fingers found all those keys
with no eyes to guide them
how he took songs everybody knew
and blasted them into a million
glittering jewels of sound
he had an arm up each sleeve
with miraculous hands at the ends
here I sit, mouth open in wonder
grateful just to listen
/ / /
14 April 2025
Charlottesville VA
Dishwasher At The Barricades
I made the mistake
of listening to headlines
while I washed the dishes tonight.
I’d been proud of myself
for washing them
rather than just getting into bed.
By the time I finished
I was enraged,
my heart pounding in my chest.
The antithesis of meditation.
It’s the Frodo Baggins of it all:
living through times
I’d have rather avoided,
chest full of a heart
that can’t look away.
I’m too cowardly for the big things.
I let my bosses silence me.
I hide behind the age-old fear
of getting yelled at.
I’m not a Willem van Spronsen.
Not an Alexander Berkman.
My hands shake
as I rinse the last glass,
set it rim-side-down
on the pile of clean dishes
in the drying rack.
I turn off the podcast
so I can write this poem.
/ / /
4/7/25
Charlottesville VA
dawn chorus
we’ve sung for them
for a thousand years
but they’ve never
learned the words
/ / /
5 April 2025
Charlottesville VA
the mysterious valley
there’s a mysterious valley
behind Lisa
I hadn’t noticed it until today
I guess I was too distracted
by the smile we’re told to look at
but there it is –
a path and a bridge
some mountains fading into mist
while Lisa sits there
daring us to look past her
/ / /
4 April 2025
Charlottesville VA
For John Breen
We’ll probably never know what he did
when he was overseas in a uniform.
He kept most of that pretty close to the chest.
In fact he kept most things pretty close to the chest.
He was a classic man of his era.
He served, he worked, he did what was required.
I once watched him eat two slices of pizza
and wash them down with a full glass of milk.
He was, if memory serves, the only person I ever knew
who preferred Wonder Bread to all other kinds.
I sat at his table one afternoon,
having decided to unburden my emotions
to this least likely of hearers.
When I was done, he told me
to get my head out of my ass.
He wasn’t wrong.
/ / /
31 March 2025
Charlottesville VA
For my Uncle John,
who passed away on
March 29, 2025.
hush
a carpenter bee inspects the bird feeder
across the street, a neighbor mows short grass
there’s a woodpecker knocking in a tree behind me
the cat jumps up to say hi then bites my hand
I saw a video once about a man
who finds the last quiet places
I haven’t seen him around here
/ / /
28 March 2025
Charlottesville VA
Fred Astaire’s Sister
The crossword puzzle book –
which, let’s be honest,
is already a pretty old place to start –
has a clue asking for the name
of Fred Astaire’s sister.
As I pencil in ADELE,
I get that cozy feeling
that comes from a warm fire
on a snowy day
with an old movie playing.
There’s something oddly comforting
about knowing Fred’s sister’s name,
as there is about knowing Fred himself.
I was born in the era of record players
housed in credenzas, grew up
in the era of cassette tapes and then CDs,
and watched my kids come of age
at a time when every song ever recorded
is available at the touch of a pretend button.
But now it’s Sunday afternoon,
I’m listening to Horowitz on vinyl,
penciling in the name
of Fred Astaire’s sister,
and happy to be spanning the ages
with my wonder still intact.
/ / /
25 March 2025
Charlottesville VA
Carrying A Pencil
“I got me an Altoids can
and one of these pencil sharpeners here
German pencil sharpeners
M&R
and these are great,
little $8, heavy, brass pencil sharpener
and I would carry these daily
that’s a lot
then I finally wised up
and went with the mechanical pencil here.”
/ / /
24 March 2025
Charlottesville VA
From this video by Coty Black
Buttered Toast
for Denise
I eat buttered toast
and think of my aunt
who is actually my cousin,
who almost certainly
wouldn’t know me
if she saw me today,
not because I’ve changed –
though I have –
but because her mind
has exchanged the present
for the hazy glow of the past,
where we all sit
around the dining room table
while the future
stretches out forever,
golden.
/ / /
22 March 2025
Charlottesville VA