Kingfisher

along this suburban street,
my narrow tires sideswipe a kingfisher
hopping along the gutter
(an algae-encrusted pond
is just over the bank)

i think of you burning forests
in Kentucky, telling your baby
the names of all the songbirds,
pointing out the indigenous plants
(plucking the non-native species)

he doesn’t seem to fit in here,
pecking his way along with his
tall, built-for-fishing legs and the
beak made for water. i don’t
run him over, but i wonder

i wonder what you would
say of his presence in this arid
climate, at the same time priding
myself that i remember his species.
native? non-native? i couldn’t say.
but i think he will find his way.

Interstate Oblivion

Frost haunts me with the words
I first heard in eighth grade and now
We’re passing Arnold and way leads onto way
And Isabella’s desperate question
Will we ever be back?
Makes me want to wrench the steering wheel
From his palms and take one last look from the top

Oh how the river would shine!
But we are headed south, sun at our side
Behind the non-native Kentuckian
Our prime parking place abandoned
With the three free beers
And it will have to be good enough
Our archless trip disappearing
As we enter interstate oblivion.

We Have Won

Twenty perfect pictures
A cry-free four hour drive
Thrilled squeals that last for miles
A dip in the end-of-maze pool
A local restaurant in a sea
Of red jerseys and sauce
On the way to the stadium
With an ocean of red jerseys and lust

It’s summer and the sun has set
On fourteen flights of stairs up
The arch glistens from city lights
Alongside the river of all rivers
Our room sees it and smiles with pride
For we have won, we have won,
Our team, us, them, we have won.

What I Miss from Denver

microbrews (sweet and smooth)
that I can order anywhere I go
restaurants that have a decent meal
and are within fifteen minutes
the skyline with its cash register trademark
that I first saw at age seven
Starbucks (though I’m no daily-doser)
just for its frequency of availability
women on bicycles (though few)
so for once I can blend in
the absence of fleas, mosquitoes,
or any other recognizable insect
the peaks that keep their snow
into the middle of July
and the camaraderie of close friends
who wrap us up with happiness.

Fit for Life

ninety degrees, heading into the sun,
hour three of a dogged day’s drive.
my sweat gives in to my need for
some cool caffeine, even if it means
stopping at the food devil’s door.

i stand in line behind their typical customer:
400 pounds, greasy white hair,
pack of Marlboros tucked into its home
in his back pocket, he orders his
super-sized meal and waddles around
while the too-thin cashier rings it up.

i catch a glimpse (all it takes)
of his 4X gray T-shirt that
bubbles over his belly
like an ashy house dress.
“Fit for Life: Jesus Christ’s Gym.”

when i discover the latte machine is broken,
the irony leads me across the street where
i put $2.46 down on the gas station counter
for a canned Starbucks, the Indian brothers
taking my money, their heavy accents reminding me
of home, home, home.

Ode to Colorado

Only here will I worry
about traffic jams along the bike path,
runners and bikers decked out
in garishly bright bodysuits
speeding double file
in a race to beat their average
so early on a Saturday morning

Only here will the wind whip up
a thunderstorm that creeps in from
the mountains every afternoon,
sneaking out after torrents
that the dry steppe soaks up
with its thirst for rain
so early in the year’s seasons.

Only here will fourteen miles
vary from century-old Victorians,
to modern multiplexes,
to simple suburban trilevels
tucked amongst the creek that
brought us all here, that connects us
so early in the life of Colorado.

Only here will I raise my girls,
stake my claim, teach my kids
that the beauty surrounding us all
lies within the pedals, the pounding feet,
the mountains bearing weather,
the creek bearing gold, the architecture
that keeps us here, brings us here,
so early in the life of our love.

What I Learned Today

One: squirrels are suicidal
dashing in front of tires in a race
that didn’t exist before
they saw me coming

Two: canals are the best
places to ride a bike along
(flat and meandering,
tree filled and peaceful)

Three: once again, fresh
homemade ice cream from
Bonnie Brae upholds its
“beautiful hill” standard.

Four: my girls are fish, in
and out of the water no
holds barred, ready for summer,
ready for anything.

Five: two hundred joggers in
Wash Park may look like a race to them,
but it’s just another Saturday in
Denver, just what my girls should see.

Six: the liquor store is also
known as the “licorice store”
because they have wine for us and
lollipops for them: a treat for all.

Seven: playing outside with
the neighbor kids is just as magical
for this generation as it was for mine,
just as free, and just the way to end the day.

Summoning Spring

pedals taking me there
the horizon beckons
on either side of my tires

from the west, golden,
hidden under a mask of clouds
the glowing coin of night
settles itself onto a bed of
snowcapped mountain peaks,
the city’s glittering lights
quilting the mattress of spring

from the east, silver,
hidden under a mask of clouds
the flashing fish of morning
prances into a pool of
aquamarine divinity,
the black-roofed suburban homes
splashing the tides of spring.

pedals taking me there
the horizons beckon
the divine hands that
summon spring’s sunrise
on both sides of my tires.

Daily Dose of Hope

nestled here in the crack between
two suburbs (one might deny that—
once a small town, now inundated by
subdivisions as the city’s hands outstretch)
are you, the cows and llamas
of my daily commute.

grazing on prairie grasses that
the developers haven’t touched,
one old farmhouse boarded up and fenced in,
the other bursting out yellow light
(still open for your business)
in the predawn mornings.

I search for you more than I
watch my speed, more than I
try to make the next light,
more than you can imagine as
you stalwartly brave the snow,
the wind, the rain without complaint.

will your wool appear in sweaters
at the local store? your beef and
leather be sold in a place where I can buy it?
these are the things that run through my mind
as I come over the hill, anxiously awaiting
my daily dose of yesteryear, of tomorrow, of hope.

Colfax on MLK Day

In the entire country, this is the longest continuous thoroughfare through a major metropolitan area. Its collection of every type of store, from spiritual arts to adults only to tattoo artists and nail salons, from record and book shops that beckon a bygone era, to liquor stores on almost every block, Laundromats, and gift shops, makes it more unique than any other street in Denver. But its difference does not stop there: it boasts a combination of modern brick apartment buildings intermingled with renovated Victorian mansions, stone masonry churches and the most architecturally magnificent high school in Colorado. It holds a variety of restaurants that range from Ethiopian to American to Greek, some dating back decades and others replacing old favorites with food served with a twist of contemporary and old-fashioned décor. The small theatres that line up like square building blocks along the north side of the street host up-and-coming bands from around the world. And all along its light-at-every-block corridor on any given day, you will see every kind of person you can imagine, from heavily pierced young artists to conservatively dressed Catholics to families pushing their strollers with young children. And you will also see, at all times of the day and night, endless traffic—people pouring out of the many bars and night clubs and into the multitude of 24/7 restaurants, people piercing and tattooing themselves at two in the morning, people streaming in and out of downtown.

This is Colfax, the simultaneously famous and infamous Denver street, the route to Civic Center Park, Lakewood, and Aurora, the path that leads to everywhere you want to go if you are heading somewhere in the city. And for every hour of almost every day of the year, you can drive on it. But not today, when the nation’s largest crowd gathers for a Marade, a combination of march and parade, to celebrate the glorious leader of the Civil Rights Movement, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

If you go, you will stand for hours in City Park, and it will probably be sunny, as it always is in Denver. You will probably hear speeches from the mayor, the governor, perhaps a state senator, maybe even a U.S. senator. There will be a rally at the end with poetry and more speeches. There will be people holding up signs to say that we need to end the war, that you should join their church, that gays and lesbians should have equal rights, that American Indians are the first founding fathers, that the United States should have a Department of Peace. There will be drums of various tones and sizes, some individuals and some small groups, to set the beat for your six-mile-round trip walk.

But what you will really see and hear, as you take one slow step at a time, is a rainbow of people who, despite the varying signs they hold, despite the buses, cars old and new, and other methods of arrival to this point in place and time, have all come here with a common goal: to let loose the burdens of all that hang over our current society, to celebrate an amazing man who led so many thousands of people to a peaceful change, to come together with strangers and treat them as friends, and, with the strength and courage that drives us all to take pride in our country, to stop traffic on Colfax Avenue.