Member Poem

In my blue jeans I listen
to prog rock while I cook
a pre-packaged pea soup
with carrots. It's still summer.
August is continuing to enjoy
cats from a distance, rather
be putting on headphones
or reading a book by someone
I know, wash it down with some
watermelon juice followed by
spinach ravioli microwaved
from a freezer bag. Of course,
after that I think about returning
to my gym rat days, even though
I've recently discovered the joy
of wearing socks and sandals.
I also take showers long enough
to feel good, keep my Android
nearby in case I want to hear
Yes, but I have faith no more
in living in an apartment, too
lonely. I sit at a table, compose
my poetry in a gifted notebook,
later type it into a computer
to share on Facebook. I switch
on the ceiling fan to be
cool as the swimming pool
outside my door where I walk
out, seek something to eat
with basketball highlights
on the internet, hopefully
spooning either pasta or
potatoes. So, I guess I'm blue
when I have to be patient,
contemplating a drive to
the countryside to shoot
cellphone camera pics
to post while I wait for
the Lakers season to start.
Sometimes I remember to glance
beyond my window, to see if
the sunrise or sunset is worth
capturing in pixels or lines.
Don't want to fictionalize, yet
the truth is I often forget
to brush, prefer to hold a pen,
write dreaming of another
Las Vegas trip with a woman
who doesn't pierce her ears,
and no tattoos, please. Call
me Don if you love me, or
Kingfisher if we’re just friends.
I'll give you a printed copy
either way, because I am
a single man searching for
an excuse to marry again.