“can you guffaw?” he asks
  quite seriously. “i mean really,
  what the hell is a guffaw?”

a hearty, boisterous burst of
  laughter, i answer.

“thank you webster, but
  like, who guffaws anymore?”
  he continues, a beer in
  one hand, a pretzel in
  the other, trying to sound
  intelligent despite his
  slurred speech.

i would, were this discussion
  any more ridiculous…

jackass, i reply.

“does anyone even say
  guffaw anymore?”

The wind blows and rain
beats down upon my leaves.
There was a time, in my youth,
that I would have been afraid.

I fear no more.

I grew, turning my leaves
toward the sun and welcoming
the birds to nest in my arms.
The wind rustled their feathers
and I laughed with joy.

The joy of youth.

The squirrels came and ran
up and down my body.
They would jump and chatter
as they played.  Their laughter
filled my ears and brought a
smile to my face.

My arms soon reached to
the clouds. The wind whispers
through my leaves.

on the wall,
  by their table,
  hangs a gaudy
  portrait of a large,
  pinkish woman
  whose upper lips
  seems far too
  pronounced.

this leads them into
  conversation…
  not of this less than
  attractive lady,
  so much as the
  art of portraiture.

one argues about style…
  ageless traditions…
  lighting and the likes.
the other,
  a flamboyant sort,
  speaks of the
  essence of the
  subject’s being…
  of spontenaity…
  and of the convenience
  of a snapshop
  (much to the horror of
  his friend).

make faces while you poop…
  every single time.
in the breath of that moment…
  in the tiled solitude of
  your warshroom…
  contort your face into
  childlike expressions of
  wonder and awe.
grimace loudly, without
  making a sound…
  till the splash hits
  your bum.

then laugh… perhaps giggle…
  and pray no one is
  waiting by the door.

do not follow me
  as i pace the street
  confused, saddened,
  unable to return home.
do not promise something
  that cannot be… a
  pleasant night, a
  longing fulfilled, a
  replacement for my
  wife.
for i am tired, and may
  believe you, if only
  for a moment… but
  for the rest of my days
  would i hate myself?
i doubt that i could ever
  see her face in
  your eyes.
so it is that i will walk
  home finally, to rest
  on her side of the bed…
  imagining that i can
  still feel her heat.

I saw a microwave waiting for
the bus this morning.

It sat squarely on the bench,
considerately off to the side
should any other appliances
need to travel.

I only spied it for a moment,
as the depth of the scene did
not strike me until I’d driven
some blocks onward.

I’d have liked to follow it
on its journey, if only to see
its destination (though perhaps
it is better to allow my
imagination the freedom
of not knowing).

I wonder if it stopped at the
mall, picked up a transfer, a
little sunscren, then finally
off to the beach.

For it is a beautiful, sunny
day, and the waves must
be righteous.

her words will never escape me,
  and so my perception of
  her… of all our years, is
  no longer real.
we had known each other since
  high school, and married
  early.
(I’d thought that I’d been
  the first and only.)
because of a depression that lasted
  ten years, I changed.  I don’t
  remember all of the times
  that she held me while I
  cried, but I still see her
  making love to me when
  the world was not such a
  bad place.
(I was not so pityful, and
  she was hungry.)
she had told me throughout those
  years that it was fine to
  break down… that I should
  take all the time needed to
  heal… that one day she would
  need me.

i am a conspiracy theorist, because
  i see what others fail to… because
  of life-long worries and because
  of a heightened awareness.
i know that there are governmental
  big brothers dying to give me a
  wedgy and i know that there are
  people watching… every moment,
  every breath, every time i go for
  a crap.
people are capable of such atrocities
  and invasions of my privacy… i am
  fully aware of this.
they hide cameras behind mirrors in
  their bathrooms and laugh at me
  whenever i have to go.
medicine cabinets are easier to open
  and check… however full-size mirrors
  screwed into the wall take
  considerably longer to take down.
i must say that i am tired of having to
  make excuses for my lengthy
  bathroom excursions… and it would
  be nice if not every one of my
  friends thought i was perpetually
  suffering from constipation.