Just A Cashier

A ballad I wrote a few years ago.

Sunday morning, yawning aloud

Flipping through magazines

Staring down aisle number two

Rattling coins in jeans

Wearing her nametag upside down

Hair in a sloppy bun

She pointed at the camera

Trying to have some fun

Addie was nearly seventeen

Pretty but immature

Doodling on an old receipt

When Jack came through the door

Green eyes brushed passed her round dark brown

He strutted far away

Leaning over cash register

She wondered what to say Read More

As We Age

I received everything below in an email, and did not write any of it, but felt the need to share this touching poem.

When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in North
Platte, Nebraska, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.

Later, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, they
found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that
copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital. One
nurse took her copy to Missouri.

The old man’s sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the
Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the St. Louis Association for
Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his
simple, but eloquent, poem.

And this little old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now
the author of this ‘anonymous’ poem winging across the Internet.

Crabby Old Man
What do you see nurses? . . . .. .. What do you see?
What are you thinking . .. . . . When you’re looking at me?
A crabby old man . . . . . Not very wise,
Uncertain of habit . .. . . . With faraway eyes?

Who dribbles his food . . . . . And makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice . . . . . ‘I do wish you’d try!’
Who seems not to notice .. . .. . . The things that you do.
And forever is losing . . .. . .. A sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not . . . . . Lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding . . . . . The long day to fill?
Is that what you’re thinking? . .. . . . Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse . . . . . You’re not looking at me.

I’ll tell you who I am. . . . . . As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, . … . . .. As I eat at your will.
I’m a small child of Ten . . .. . . With a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters .. .. . . . Who love one another.

A young boy of Sixteen . . . . With wings on his feet.
Dreaming that soon now . . . . . A lover he’ll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty . .. . . . My heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows .. . . . . That I promised to keep.

At Twenty-Five, now . . .. . . I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide . . . . . And a secure happy home..
A man of Thirty . . . .. . My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other . . .. . … With ties that should last. Read More

Change of Seasons

The cotton candy sky above the highway wasn’t as pretty

as your hand on my wrist, when you told me I was flawless

You’d be at the door in one of your gray shirts

Damp hair and clean shaven

I thought you only smiled at me that way

The flowers bursted and the warm air pat me on the back

when I had enough, when I was finally brave Read More

Little Women Blackout poem

A blackout poem I created from a few pages of Louisa May Alcott’s novel, Little Women.


People, you know, envy girls fond of luxury

Man of the Sea learned to carry her without complaining

So light

Good spirits

Blue neck-ribbon, dressing her hair

looking nice, pretty or not

Bits of fun now and then Read More


I wrote this poem in 2008 when I worked at a dog boarding kennel. It’s about remembering the dog I grew up with.

It smells like her, that collar

Once tangled in fur,

now a decoration to my room

and a memory for my heart

Foggy, but I can remember

the first time I saw her

Like a frightened bear cub

hiding under kitchen table

Read More

Fighting with Myself Because of You

An old poem of mine that I recently rediscovered while cleaning my room.

Maybe they’re hard to tame because

they’re invisible

I feel them living in me

On me like a bad itch

in a difficult place

I want to pick them off

like fingernails

But my brain is an


and my heart thinks they’re


A sickness I wish I was immune to Read More