four shorts...

Reused and Recycled

The shampoo bottle

is an hourglass,

a measurement

of her time spent

at home.

It lies empty in the

recycle bin.

Spring

“Can I ride

my bike now?”

I can see some 

of the ground.”

For the Love of the Game

She went to hockey camp

for only a week and slept in her

pads after practice.

I had to remove them at night

so she could go to the washroom.

She was disillusioned when they never 

gave her the puck and then had her stand

in front of the net.

Her feet were blistered

and then of course

she lost the love of the game.

Flight 745

Flight called.

Quick hugs,

always tears

“I’ll call you

Dad...

Good Bye...

I love you to

hyper space

and back.”

I didn’t see her

for seven years.

Perfection in an Imperfect World

Perfection in an Imperfect World




The day was hot and we were listless.

Little Jessica wore her yellow hockey

helmet and sat buckled into the kids

seat on my bike. Proudly she

clutched her plastic Safeway bag

containing her equipment.



She said that we were going on a secret

mission and packed insect spray,

the rub on kind, a pair of scissors (for

taking plant cuttings) and a bottle of

Kool-Aid with a picture of a Disney

Character on it (Sleeping Beauty).



We forged across country taking a dusty

dirt bike trail leading us on a direct path

To the mystical spruce forest of her vivid

Imagination. I maneuvered around ruts

Formed by bikes that plied this route

On muddier days gone by.



There was no sign of activity at the beaver

Pond, likely it was too hot a day. Walking

by another beaver pond, mornings on my

way to work, a long V trail formed

behind the head of a partially submerged

beaver. It would then arch its back and

loudly smack its tail to worn the others of

my ominous presence.



At Christmas we returned to the beaver pond

To find the perfect Christmas tree, which was

Usually two less than perfect trees wired together

Around the trunk giving the illusion of natural

Symmetry. I drilled holes and filled in the gaps

With transplanted branches.



A fox crossed our path and quickly disappeared

as it had other things on its mind. At the golf

course I once watched as a fox efficiently

And systematically rounded up a family of ducklings,

like a collie would with a herd of Holsteins, and ate

them one by one, oblivious to the squawks of the

frantic mother duck and my 3 iron.



Yet…



In a meadow just past the pond my daughter set about

Snipping perfect specimens of wild flowers.

Black Lace for Lovers

Black Lace for Lovers




We stood in front of the student union building

In our second year and thought, we knew it all.

We had our picture taken next to the phallic metal

Sculpture holding our motorcycle helmets like

Tiny testicles. Decorated with toilet paper with

Stupid grins we marveled at our creativity.



We shared a basement apartment near Kits Beach

Where we entertained girl friends in our common

Bedroom. You played your guitar and wrote lyrics

About descending to the nude beach where we bought

Fudgesicles from a naked vendor with with pendulous tanned

breasts standing stately in the sunshine next to a cement bunker

designed to defend against the Japanese. On those same beaches

saved for democracy and our western ways, a naked couple tossed

a Frisbee. It endlessly hangs in space. The tide is out.



In another life, I sold my motorcycle for a used Pinto.

You sold your BSA for a truck and buskered in the East.

I married very badly. My wife bought black lace for her lovers.

Acrobatic Romance

Acrobatic Romance




In the Maple grove across the street,

I watched a black squirrel chase a grey

across the creek.

Then, ascending in spirals along the trunk,

An acrobatic romance,

That would not last.

Massala Bay (poem)

To Masala Bay




Christmas Eve,

on my way to Masala Bay,

I watched as a beat cop, on a

downtown street, approached a

homeless man with his shopping cart

laden with his life’s possessions.

A sign on the cart read:

“I NEED TWO DOLLARS.”

The cop reached for his night stick

only

to prevent the cart from tipping

over the curb and into the street.

“Stand closer to the buildings,

I heard him say,

“You’ll find more shelter there.”



Christmas Eve,

On my way to Masala Bay.





Marty Rempel