90
Coffee cream cup Flowers in the sand Palms lined up Marvin cloned
Electric gate Speefy license plate
Rainbow sunset Bare legs Capistrano place 
Coffee, cream, a plastic cup,
rainbow sunset, palms lined up,
flowers growing in the sand,
bare legs showing, getting tanned,
hearts on the electric gate,
funny SPEEFY license plate,
Marvin cloned from outer space,
stay on Capistrano Place.
89
ShootingStars 
I'm running home at night. The cars
all shine their lights like shooting stars.
In line they start. Their spreading glow
brightens the dark before they go.
They fill the air. The beams they cast
and grime they spread and sounds they blast
and stench they spill as they drive past
make spaces worse while they go fast.
88
NewHouse 
House stands up tall
on wooden beams
to scaffold someone's future dreams.
Construction crew's
all wearing reds
while building quarters for their beds.
Neighbors must hate
the noise and mess
that make it hard to decompress.
And once it's done
new occupants
will bring expanded opulence.
87
TheFlyer 
Majestically the flyer goes
into the atmosphere.
He elevates his eyes and nose
and softly sunlit ears.
The other riders on the plane
face frontward as they soar.
Transplants transcend tele-terrain,
transmigrate door to door.
And so he too, the little man,
sits soundless in his seat,
aboard the plane sans plaint or plan,
upon four furry feet.
86
(antha)2 
Cherry colored strands enhance
and frame two widened ice-gray eyes
that, alarmed, twinkle like the stars that tip two glossy-taloned hands
which hold your purple latte mug while some old coughing lady dies.
We're sitting in the coffee shop
trying to work near my last day
to make the most of fading moments 'til we suddenly eavesdrop
two scraggly friends of sickly granny draw her as she fades away.
Hack-hack-hacking noises from
across the table just behind you
echo evidence her syrup bottle fails to overcome
whichever dire contagion this wizened woman will expire to.
You look at me,
and I look back.
You try to hold your breath.
And still she's there, nursing her tea.
She fills our air with germ debris,
and jokes with friends through sips of yak
who watch her bend from barks that wrack
her failing frame, unfazed by meth.
...
We dash before we catch her death.
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These poems are Avi's diary. You can email him at avi@invariablyhappy.com