Dibs On Wrigley Field

The vicious wound of our break up
scabbed into a velvet ant.

It scurried across the new typeface
you designed to write your next chapter.

Anger’s loud yawp, kept loneliness at bay
long enough for paint to dry

on white apartment walls
ready for sanity’s scrawl and height-line measures.

Our friends took sides according to taste—
the craft beers

you stocked in your new fridge
compared to the ones I stocked in mine.

copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney


I know
we are not strangers.

Let go of the rotting surface.
Bad days happen.

No canvas stretched today
will be blank.

The colors are pulled
from our unconscious biases.

Straight strokes or curved.
The bite of linen’s tooth.

I know your face.
The freckled pattern of your cheeks.

You know my emotions
telegraphed from the corners of my eyes.

In the sway of our lingering
familiarity balances with contempt

as you and I reflect
on liberties and unmet expectations.

copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney