The Sheen in Dirty Things

(by Daniel R. Jones)

From a kitchen window, I saw it,
my sudsy hands soaking
in a sink:

Pearl white, a silky sheen of a thing,
the taut, intricate patterns glistened in the sun.

And just like the first recorded question of God,
it struck me.
Who told you spiderwebs were dirty?

Becoming Apparent

(by Daniel R. Jones)

My son was it. I saw him peek.
I watch the children hide and seek.

When was it last, I seized the day
instead of watching children play?

They sing, “Olly, Olly, oxy!”
Is there joy, save through proxy?

The Salesman Passover

(by Daniel R. Jones)

Behind drawn lace curtains
they wait with bated-breath
blood-red “NO SOLICITING”
signs hung across the door.

They watch me pass
like I’m the Angel of Death.
Muscles relax.
They can breathe once more.