first day on the job

first day on the job —
my new phone number
doesn’t spell anything

running for the bus

running for the bus —
the smiling supermodel
on the billboard

moving day (part two)

moving day —
my fifth anniversary clock
no longer ticking

moving day

moving day —
my married daughter’s
baby photo

winter overcast

winter overcast —
my ex-wife’s photo
in an old book

Presidents’ Day

Presidents’ Day —
bombs kill 17
in Iraq

snow squall

snow squall —
I forget
what I was saying

church bells

signs of spring

signs of spring —
fresh graffiti
on a downtown train

signs of spring —
the homeless man’s
brand new sneakers

signs of spring —
a bikini-clad
mannequin

Valentine's Day

Valentine’s Day —
the world’s greatest lover
gets to walk the dog

Valentine's Day

Valentine’s Day —
an extra olive
in my Bloody Mary

leaving Belize

Maya Beach, 10 February 2006

leaving Belize —
our taxi narrowly misses
the iguana

under cloudy skies

Maya Beach, 9 February 2006

under cloudy skies —
a stray puppy
pouncing on flies

last day of vacation —
we read our books on the beach
under cloudy skies

happy hour

Placencia, 8 February 2006

happy hour —
a stray dog
wags its tail

happy hour —
the security guard
lights a spliff

the dive bar by the sea

Maya Beach, 7 February 2006

a sickly dog scratches itself at the foot of our table. with my Belikin bottle I slowly grind a hole through the soggy brown coaster, while a gecko sprints from behind a dart board to the thatched palm fronds of the ceiling. we are more than halfway through our vacation: just long enough to forget about time; still knowing that it hasn’t forgotten about us.

outside, a dump truck belches diesel when it downshifts for a speed bump. it’s then that you quietly remind me that it’s my turn to pay.

book of dreamlessness

Maya Beach, 5 February 2006

I can’t remember a single dream I’ve had since getting here, but the vultures circling overhead... and what’s that awful smell? why all of those dogs barking? can’t just call 911 and wait for the rush of sirens — not here. surel some kindly stranger or concerned neighbor... I lock all the doors, turn out the lights and carefully sweep the darkness in search of my beer.

Super Bowl Sunday

Maya Beach, 5 February 2006

Super Bowl Sunday —
ants surround
a drop of jam

cloudy day

Placencia, 4 February 2006

cloudy day —
a little girl cries
while her hair is braided

cloudy day —
a pile of trash burns
at the end of the sidewalk

cloudy day —
the bartender says
he doesn’t remember me

Ground Hog Day

Maya Beach, 3 February 2006

Ground Hog Day —
the shadow of our jet
against the clouds

Ground Hog Day —
a gecko disappears
behind the shower curtain

first day of February

first day of February —
ice on the snow on the ice
of my driveway

gone daddy gone

In less than 24 hours Mrs. Bitter and I will be boarding a plane for Placencia, Belize, where we will be spending 8 days in a virtual decompression chamber called vacation. Our goal is to avoid snow, ice, frost, impatient customers, incompetent suppliers, ineffective management, impeachable presidents, incessant phones, irrepressible faxes and inconsiderate pages. Instead our plan is to indulge in the warm sunshine of an isolated third-world Central American country, where English is grudgingly spoken as the “official” language and the choices for beer are Belikin and a semi-polite smirk. We will attempt to muster the courage to resist the urge to patronize the local internet cafe. We will attempt to read all of those books that have been collecting dust in a stack next to the bookshelf.

I will bringing the following, listed in no particular order:

Junky - William Burroughs
Guided By Voices: a Brief History - James Greer
Go - John Clellon Holmes
Book of Dreams - Jack Kerouac
Slanky - Mike Doughty
A False Spring - Pat Jordan
All the Presidents’ Pets - Mo Rocca

Mrs. Bitter will take numerous photographs. I will write poetry on something other than a hand-held device. We will walk everywhere in sandals, shorts and cleverly imprinted t-shirts. And when we’re done with all of that, we'll do nothing. By then, of course, it will be time for us to come home.

one day before vacation...

one day before vacation
I scrape the windshield
to a reggae beat