<\/p>\n
The Reason for the Apology<\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n I just wanted you<\/p>\n to shut the fuck<\/p>\n up.<\/p>\n Not go away<\/p>\n and die<\/p>\n or anything.<\/p>\n Just<\/p>\n shut the fuck<\/p>\n up.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Shopping for a Dream<\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Maybe they have<\/p>\n something else,<\/p>\n something<\/p>\n that will take me places,<\/p>\n places<\/p>\n where the women<\/p>\n glide,<\/p>\n pull their faces<\/p>\n close<\/p>\n outline your lips<\/p>\n with whiskey dipped<\/p>\n fingers \u2013<\/p>\n offer one last<\/p>\n kiss<\/p>\n before never<\/p>\n saying<\/p>\n goodbye \u2026<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Alice<\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n I have a feeling<\/p>\n I\u2019ll be buried<\/p>\n by strangers.<\/p>\n The kids grown,<\/p>\n lost to their own lives.<\/p>\n Friends<\/p>\n a few.<\/p>\n Most hoping<\/p>\n I won’t take too long.<\/p>\n The dog<\/p>\n might miss me,<\/p>\n the cat<\/p>\n not so much.<\/p>\n We never were<\/p>\n that close.<\/p>\n So the dog it is.<\/p>\n If there’s anything<\/p>\n left<\/p>\n it’s for Alice,<\/p>\n the dog.<\/p>\n Keep her happy,<\/p>\n warm<\/p>\n and fed.<\/p>\n Don\u2019t let<\/p>\n the postman<\/p>\n try to pet her<\/p>\n he was never<\/p>\n a favorite.<\/p>\n And make sure<\/p>\n she doesn\u2019t<\/p>\n sleep alone.<\/p>\n Neither of us<\/p>\n ever liked<\/p>\n sleeping alone.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cA Better Place to Be\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n It\u2019s not the muscle<\/p>\n or tendon<\/p>\n that keep the bones<\/p>\n from collapsing.<\/p>\n It\u2019s the rust, stale grease<\/p>\n and corner scum<\/p>\n of the factory floors<\/p>\n holding them up.<\/p>\n Too many year<\/p>\n on the assembly line<\/p>\n pulling the future<\/p>\n from the past,<\/p>\n too many dreams built<\/p>\n for no one to sleep with<\/p>\n but there\u2019s always<\/p>\n that one last cigarette,<\/p>\n a cool place<\/p>\n out of the sun,<\/p>\n and someone<\/p>\n to pour the whiskey.<\/p>\n We grow old<\/p>\n and time moves on,<\/p>\n we\u2019ve built our<\/p>\n empires,<\/p>\n the young ones<\/p>\n build theirs.<\/p>\n A callus,<\/p>\n a blister \u2013<\/p>\n never raised.<\/p>\n A dirty<\/p>\n fingernail \u2013<\/p>\n never witnessed.<\/p>\n The work<\/p>\n magic<\/p>\n silent,<\/p>\n curious<\/p>\n to the nonbelievers.<\/p>\n It\u2019s a new world,<\/p>\n some say \u2013<\/p>\n \u201c A better place<\/p>\n to be.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n The List of Who Cares<\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n At thirteen<\/p>\n she took a time out<\/p>\n pushing thirty now<\/p>\n still on it.<\/p>\n She drinks a bit,<\/p>\n smokes<\/p>\n enjoys a little of this<\/p>\n sometimes.<\/p>\n and sometimes,<\/p>\n some of that \u2013<\/p>\n it\u2019s a good place<\/p>\n to hide.<\/p>\n She thinks she\u2019s<\/p>\n witty,<\/p>\n has an edge,<\/p>\n reads her poem<\/p>\n about her period \u2013<\/p>\n it isn\u2019t a poem.<\/p>\n She collects wreckage<\/p>\n mostly her own.<\/p>\n Throws it<\/p>\n back<\/p>\n at the world.<\/p>\n The list of who cares<\/p>\n lost.<\/p>\n Her teeth<\/p>\n aren\u2019t what they<\/p>\n used to be.<\/p>\n Some nights<\/p>\n it\u2019s the line,<\/p>\n the shelter:<\/p>\n a coffee,<\/p>\n a soup,<\/p>\n maybe a sandwich<\/p>\n for later<\/p>\n and a prayer<\/p>\n she doesn\u2019t want<\/p>\n to hear.<\/p>\n She drinks a bit,<\/p>\n it\u2019s a good place<\/p>\n to hide<\/p>\n from everything<\/p>\n she could have been.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n A Night Weeping, a San Francisco Fog<\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n At the window table<\/p>\n street side<\/p>\n the Asian girl\u2019s tongue<\/p>\n pink<\/p>\n smooths<\/p>\n her lipstick<\/p>\n waits …<\/p>\n Her companion<\/p>\n sipping tea<\/p>\n misses it.<\/p>\n Love\u2019s \u2013 want \u2013 wishes<\/p>\n kissed into a napkin<\/p>\n the busboy \u2013<\/p>\n cleans the table<\/p>\n dreams left<\/p>\n on the smudged edge<\/p>\n of a half full<\/p>\n wine glass<\/p>\n the dishwasher<\/p>\n doesn\u2019t care.<\/p>\n The waiter \u2013<\/p>\n tip<\/p>\n never enough.<\/p>\n The Asian girl \u2013<\/p>\n smile broken<\/p>\n she follows him<\/p>\n past the register<\/p>\n out the door.<\/p>\n The chilled<\/p>\n of a<\/p>\n night weeping<\/p>\n holds her tighter<\/p>\n than he<\/p>\n ever will.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Going through Lists<\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n They send email<\/p>\n reminders<\/p>\n of people\u2019s birthdays.<\/p>\n When I go through the list<\/p>\n all that comes to mind is,<\/p>\n Christ, you\u2019re still alive.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n A Time Traveler\u2019s Maintenance Guide<\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Old age flaring up.<\/p>\n I’ve had it<\/p>\n a while now,<\/p>\n got it bad<\/p>\n everything<\/p>\n hurts \u2013<\/p>\n The kid says<\/p>\n I should get<\/p>\n a prescription<\/p>\n he\u2019s got a friend.<\/p>\n Yeah,<\/p>\n for now<\/p>\n I think I\u2019ll just<\/p>\n stick with the bourbon.<\/p>\n See what tomorrow<\/p>\n looks like.<\/p>\n It\u2019s only time.<\/p>\n I\u2019ve done a lot of it.<\/p>\n Both kinds<\/p>\n young and wild<\/p>\n old and tired.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n The Sad Eyed Girl<\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n She quit shaving<\/p>\n her eyebrows<\/p>\n looks like Frida<\/p>\n now<\/p>\n except<\/p>\n with short hair<\/p>\n and boy\u2019s shoes.<\/p>\n She\u2019s still convinced<\/p>\n nobody loves her \u2013<\/p>\n him, her,<\/p>\n anybody.<\/p>\n You want to ask<\/p>\n if anyone\u2019s<\/p>\n touched it<\/p>\n yet,<\/p>\n but you don\u2019t.<\/p>\n Still<\/p>\n for her sake<\/p>\n you hope<\/p>\n someone has<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n The Sound of Snow<\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n It\u2019s hard to hear<\/p>\n the snow.<\/p>\n Sometimes<\/p>\n you think maybe,<\/p>\n but no.<\/p>\n The wind spitting,<\/p>\n the trees cracking,<\/p>\n the splash of the tires,<\/p>\n but the snow<\/p>\n no.<\/p>\n It\u2019s mostly<\/p>\n a gentle whisper<\/p>\n a cold kiss<\/p>\n something<\/p>\n to wipe from<\/p>\n an eyelash<\/p>\n sometimes<\/p>\n a smile from a lover<\/p>\n a friend.<\/p>\n Never a long<\/p>\n goodbye<\/p>\n a voice<\/p>\n raised<\/p>\n or a hint<\/p>\n of tricks<\/p>\n to be played.<\/p>\n Only the roar<\/p>\n of the quiet<\/p>\n and the snow.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Bill Gainer<\/b> is a widely <\/span>recognized<\/span> writer, editor, humorist and poet. He earned his BA from St. Mary\u2019s College and his MPA from the University of San Francisco. He is the publisher of the PEN Award winning R. L. Crow Publications and is the ongoing host of Red Alice\u2019s Poetry Emporium (Sacramento, CA). <\/span>Gainer is <\/span>internationally<\/span> published and known across the country for giving legendary fun filled performances. <\/span>His latest book, <\/span>Lipstick and Bullet Holes<\/strong>, is from Epic Rites Press, Canada (2014). Visit: www.<\/a><\/span>billgainer.com<\/span><\/a><\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The Reason for the Apology I just wanted you to shut the fuck up. Not go away and die or anything. Just shut the fuck up. Shopping for a Dream Maybe they have something else, something that will take me places, places where the women glide, pull their […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":934,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-2753","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"yoast_head":"\n