Harry, not Houdini, 
but, Haberkorn
wrought great wonders.
Dr. Harry Haberkorn, OD,
shined lights in my eyes,
when I was ten,
scribbled strange numbers
on his pad,
said come back in two weeks
when your glasses are ready.
As a non-believer,
not wanting sissy specs,
fourteen days flew by.
I read the little letters
on his stupid little chart, Whoopie.
Then, Magic happened outside his door,
when the sidewalk was close and clear,
when I spied individual leaves in trees,
when I saw seams on the fastball.
Let Houdini disappear.
Haberkorn, provides real magic,
when he makes the world appear.

End Of Season

Trying to lure a few more rays, casting
casting to the beams but,
the sun done made up its mind.

It shined enough for today.

Salmon, so thick
in the channel six days ago,
that you could walk on fish and water,

heeded a spawning appointment upstream.

Just two fishermen left,
fishin’ more by faith than sight.
Just one more cast, one more cast,
gets them one more cast toward being unhooked.

Dark One’s Pets

On nights of the palled moon Conceptual image of a face with stone boils
mist zephyrs swim in the midst
of darking night
and give shiver
to scare you indoors
to lock doors
to keep mist creatures at bay.
Mizeffers, their name in ancient day,
make their presence known
with skitters cross the roof,
scratching in the wall,
chill across your skin,
cold fingers tracing your spine
to make your shoulders shake.
Although you blame sounds on
mouse, or squirrel,
or chill on frosty breeze,
you soul-feel it’s the Mizeffer.
But, never speak that aloud,
because those who meet the Mizzefer,
never testify.

Balloon in Two Movements

Not likely to live long, Red balloon
red balloon wills itself
to vibrance.
Soaring now, escaped
from the sausage fingered
two year old who,
teary eyed, watches the ascent,
roaring disapproval loud enough
to drive down property values,
helium fueled red flyer
climbs higher.
A single red lung,
knowing to exhale is to die,
exhilaratingly lost in clouds
when the end pops quickly.

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