Salazar Brings Home the Bacon

This oreo-coated heathen ripped the insole from my shoe and replaced it with a dying katydid. I think we both jumped a foot when, from the blackness inside my boot, the green-winged victim twitched to life and shuddered its last mighty buzz. What a thoughtful gift…it isn’t even my birthday.

Watching Waking

First melon-tinged light sneaks past

blinds slats and finds you

squinting one reluctant eye open.

Your gold-flecked iris unfurls

like a clenched bud drinking in dawn,

and I breakfast beneath

the vastness of your lashes.

Tiring of daybreak, the sun threatens

to explode our bed; I draw heavy curtains

closed so I can understand

a big bang as it balloons

from the gravity of your pupil—

my universe perpetually expanding.