Boarding Now, by chris miller

I try to keep to myself
with the squish, squeak, click
of the squeegee -- a clanky lullaby
for a weekend window washer.

The tawny young lady finds me, nonetheless,
pearly smile and slender form;
her eyes light up with recognition (she had been
looking for me apparently),

and for a moment I feel desired,

and I savor it, until

she hands me a small piece of paper,
a movie ticket
-- with the phrase, “one free admission into heaven,”
boasting a Bible verse
and touting the Great Kingdom
like a Sunday matinee,
replete with greasy popcorn
and sticky floors.

A nail-biting melodrama
with giant whales, floods, beasts with multiple heads,
and a love story to end all movies of the week.

Instead, the film likely
features myself, a B-movie actor
in life’s grainy portrayal,
immersed in a situation
where nothing exciting happens,
like one of those European flicks.

She actually saved me, in her mind,
as she moved along to the next soul to heal.
If only she knew how far from redemption I lie,
the dirty truth;
if only she could realize her optimistic black and white
is a paper ship
awash in the deluge of a million hues.

Then I’d supplicate at her feet, but
in the meantime I guess I’ll meditate
on the squish, squeak, click
of the squeegee,
and save those dirty windows
from sin.

the business of ferrets, by chris miller

diminutive dervish
arches her back,
wary of the many predators
lurking in my house,
looking for things to pilfer

scuttling on her tiptoes,
sneaky, like a curly backed snake –
in fact, she slinks around the office
as i write this, looking to lift
my mundane ideas
and hide them somewhere safe.

that slipper you're missing
is probably behind the couch,
along with sundry tiny items
the compulsive creature
felt within her right to hide,
it's her business, really,

as she pounces around me,
sneering her teddy bear face
punctuated with a tiny pink frown,
challenging the animals
many times her size,
performing
a little vaudeville skit
with the cat
on my kitchen floor,
and, like a plucky jester
she cackles and runs up the stairs –
one of those old slinky toys in reverse.

i wonder if the defensive posturing
is all an act,
or if she really feels at odds
with the rest of the animal kingdom.
she ritualistically removed
the eyes from all of her stuffed toys,
perhaps out of spite
due to her own poor eyesight.

the recipient of life
as a ferret
and its attendant insanity
is more business than I can handle.
she knows to fight her fate is not apparent.
it's the business of ferrets
busyness and shenanigans for all.