A Light-Year of a Dark Mile

Shamrocke

When the world changed
from 6 degrees of separation
to 6 feet,
the longer this change
became a way of life,
the more that distance began to be
measured by time apart.
Children seemed to disappear
like caterpillars
into the cocoons of their homes,
their siblings their only friends;
but for the only child,
Mom & Dad
became their whole world,
other children,
a voice & a face on a screen.
FaceTiming with the grandparents,
whose hugs had become something dreamlike—
the spicy scent of Grandpa’s Clove gum
& wiry whiskers that felt like pine needles,
the intoxicating scent of Grandma’s Charly perfume
& powdery, rouged cheeks that left their mark—
began to fade into something indescribable.

Ode to TP

TP

No more leaves,
corn cobs,
or pages of the Sears & Roebuck catalogue
(thanks, but no thanks, Fingerhut):
TP is the !@#$.
Whether 2-ply or 3-,
lavender-scented or unscented—
(though floral scents
have an edge at filling
that crack in the vase),
TP takes a lot of crap.
Great for mock
bridal shower dresses,
tree garland
for unloved
principals & profs,
& butt-seat barriers
for public toilets,
TP is on a roll.
Now you’re running out
because of hoarders & bungholes,
but,
like any substitute teacher,
paper towels are willing
to do the job for less.