Of all the poems I’ve written, this one bears both my silliest and my favorite title.

And it’s appropriate that it’s up today in Cascadia Rising Review’s Issue 3, because it was written in conversation with the Southern California home I’m headed back to shortly for a Christmas visit.

It’s also written in “conversation” (although she didn’t know this at the time!) with a brilliant friend who thinks and writes a lot about, among other things, personal finance and economic trends. (And her novels are wonderful.)

I have a big soft spot for Cascadia Rising Review, because they were the first journal to give my poetry a home. Thanks for giving me a chance, Team CRR. <3 Also, they are pleasant folks, and their design is aces.

Millennials Now Ruining Morning Walks

In the early sun we laced our shoes
and sensibly
donned our hats.
We followed jasmine-scent down streets
of smallish, niceish homes
we can’t afford.

Back in our parents’ house we toasted bread
and spread
the buttery fruit
of neighboring avocado trees, shook salt
and cracked some pepper;
cheap indulgence.

Then the clouds sailed in from the sea
and dropped
their anchors. Greedily,
we laced our shoes again and climbed aboard,
wandering along
the scent of ocean.

We asked each other how to find
some work
that really matters.
And failing that, perhaps some benefits?
We shed some soul about
our corporate jobs.

Iceberg roses nodded in our wordwind.
Lantana strewed gold petals at our feet.
We laughed: we’re rich!
We weren’t being ironic.

Still wearing our hats,
because who can afford
to get cancer
when this stage is chronic?