I get my blessings from the toll plaza attendant.
In his Jamaican accent, he takes my quarter
and wishes me a blessed evening.
Sometimes I smile back.
Sometimes I don't.
At Christmas he handed me a poem
along with my change.
I want to know when you dream of dogs,
are they chasing you or licking your wounds?
The night you dreamt of dogs,
a wolf killed a possum in my yard.
In the morning the kill was waiting for me
by my kitchen door.
My son once made a negative remark about gay men.
I corrected him and told him love is hard to find and
when you find it, embrace it.
What do you teach your children?
I get my music from the radio.
I get my birds flying through my window.
I get my poems as a Toyota cuts in front of me.
I get my little deaths riding down the Turnpike.
I get my love thrown in front of the backdoor.