Laid off from my job, given one day to pack

thirty years into two copy machine paper boxes.

Rolled them out to my car with my bike and never looked back.

I hear school buses come and go in the morning and late afternoon

and witness light shifting and shadows pouring out

like ghosts from another life.

I go to the thrift store, buy a new top

in case for a zoom interview.

Make chicken noodle soup and write sad poems.

Inside of every poem is a God trying not to forget you.

Pick fruit from the abundant tree

bake crisp, pie, bread.

Apply for jobs, apply for jobs, apply for jobs.

Change my middle name to Wait. 

Apply for jobs some more

Inside of every poem is a God saying

Thank you for your interest but.

Browse the internet, sweep the floors, do the dishes.

In the seconds between rejection and acceptance

look in the mirror to see who I am.

Fold the laundry, wait for a delivery

fumble then rise, fumble then rise.

Upload my resume, then retype the whole thing

into a separate application page.

Watch the spinning death of my computer.

Weed the garden, plow through mail.

Watch my severance dwindle.

Inside of every poem is a God

with nothing left to say.

Labor Day, After A Layoff

We move the chairs

from shade to sun and back

as September light cascades.

Shadows, fickle, move and change

like memory into our minds and out.

The sky spills blue from its dusty cup

as a glossed, glassed stillness seeds us with inertia.

Somewhere an apple waits upon a desk.

I taught and more for forty years. 

When I was young before the first bell rang,

I bought new socks and underwear

for everyone in the house. 

The day yellow now

has changed the sound of traffic

even the engines are filled with less desire.

I taught them words for living

One student wrote

After my mother died,

I stopped playing the piano.