biscuits

the oven burns off butter
or a blackened hunk of cheese.
you saunter in your apron,
laughing on bended knees.

the cherries on the oven mitts
have surely seen better days
but just like the rest of us
they have been worn
by your warming ways.

you smile gratefully as I whine over iced coffee
about my lack of compelling affairs.
because you have witnessed the tornados
once I've given in to wanting stares.

the kitchen is too hot.
my story is an exposed nerve.
still, you listen
grab the jam,
and biscuits
and wait for me to serve.

not forever

not forever

they said it would pass
but they didn't say
it would happen fast.

go on and cry now,
you'll feel better later
is what they told me
but they didn't say
how long it would actually be.

they said the pain would subside.
and this time they were right.
they said if we press our noses on the glass
and tightly shut our eyes
before we know it we will have arrived.

but I don't always hear them
or love what they say.
and I know now all the shit
doesn't just go away.
so I sleep
soundly even though I have felt better
at least I believe that now
is not forever.

wonder wow

Wonder Wow

two shiny star children
met under disco lights.
danced, drank, drowned
in love, liquor and fights.

with faux fur and fake fury,
two star children
collided, collapsed
in absolute hurry.
orbiting earth/ walking among us
their celestial love made mountains
out of miles of magic dust.

earthbound,
their powers weakened
their language was unspoken
the lights and the fights
simply stayed broken.

two shiny star children
presently pressed in paper,
adhered with sticky spray,
and flatly filed away
were perhaps to sparkly
to ever really stay.

despite the furious fists,
we remember them fondly
(now).
we wonder the why.
we wonder the where.
we wonder the how.
we wonder the wow.

don't ask me

don't ask me

The guy is a tool.
You two won't last.
You're acting a fool.
It's moving too fast.
The end will be cruel
and you'll be out on your ass.

Yet I don't say this shit today.
I mind my own damn business.
And try to stay out of the way.
After all, who wants bitter advice
from somebody looking for a fight?


Even in silence
My rolling eyes say
"I told you so"
my crossed arms say
"Girl, I know."
I've bombed at the love game
and I feel like everyone else will too.
This is fatalistic and far from true.

So just don't ask me
if he loves you
or if I think it's moving too fast.
Or if his mother will be cool
or what I know about his past.
This game, like I said
has really kicked my ass.
So please
just don't ask.

- Sean Mahoney 1/11/2010

maybe later by Sean Mahoney

Maybe Later

Roll me 'round in flour
Dip me in a batter.
Fry me until golden brown
and serve me, warm, on a platter.
Or let me bask under the heat lamp
shoulder to shoulder
with coconut shrimp
and foiled wrapped taters.
I know I have a life to live
but I'll get to it
maybe later.

Right this second does not work for me.
Right this minute I need to be directed,
I need to be seasoned. I need to be kneaded.
I need to be savored. I need to be protected.

The rest of the day
might just get pittered away.
The endless fussing and fighting
crying and writing
can't work right now.
But maybe later....

- Sean Mahoney 1/11/10

After Whoa by Sean Mahoney

After Whoa

its like holy shit.
its like this is it.
its like oh no.
its like whoa.
but after the crash,
when the mirror has smashed
and the hotel room's been trashed
what's after that?

what is on the next page?
what is left behind on the stage?
do you implode in a rage
or just quietly fade?

Sifting through the ashes
is what comes after whoa.
picking up the pieces
while trying to lay low.
tears rinse off the wreckage.
clothes get picked up off the floor.
the phone is answered.
you wander to the store.

yet maybe you freeze
and thaw real slow.
best not to rush it
so soon after whoa.

Sean Mahoney 1/6/10

Untitled- by Sean Paul Mahoney

Untitled

nothing exploded.

nobody yelled.

in the dark

the old numbers

just quietly fell.

time slid on his jacket

and slipped out the door.

the adventure that was

simply wasn't

anymore.

- Sean Paul Mahoney 1/1/10

Flashlight Rock by Sean Mahoney

The fiery Indian Paintbrushes,

the gloomy blue Columbines,

the rhino shaped rocks

are pushed out of the way

by the bossy river

like a diva stepping on stage.

She suckles the rainbow trout.

She teases fisherman

in green rubber boots

and floppy canvas hats.

She easily wins

the battles with black bears

and ornery mountain cats.

She's soft sometimes too.

She gently glides bouncy inner tubes

towards the red flashlight shaped rock.

She sings to the campers as they sleep.

Yet her friendship is not ours to keep.

The prickly purple thistles,

the red raspberry bushes,

the jittery hummingbirds

were witnesses that day

when the old man's heart

got carried away.

She sailed him safely

pass the icy swimming hole.

She pushed hard with currents

when he was ready to let go.

The glow from the red flashlight rock

was a lighthouse for the man.

The river did her job.

She did not look back.

She kept moving

strong.

Mechanics

Somebody else's
curly haired
kids,
with lengthy lashes
and heart shaped lips,
sneak down the stairs
as I sleep.

They stick tape
on my hairy arms.
"We're fixing you",
they say.

I laugh
drowsily
and let them
get back to work.

August 2009

Breeze moves trees.

Fleas bite knees.

Summer's disease

has now claimed

the likes of me.

Suddenly, I'm brave

some sort of a winner

a brand new teal Mustang.

A fried chicken dinner.

But I'm supposed to loaf,

to linger

on this little vacation.

Not be a ballad singer

or a fucking inspiration.

Fruity iced teas

Grilled burgers with cheese

aren't found in the free clinic

with the likes of me.

It takes far too long.

It happens too fast.

This sweltering season

has caught up with my past.