got dreams?

When we lived in Brooklyn and Bryan worked typical office hours, I never went to his shows. Now that we're suburbanites, you can't keep me away. Above is his gig in Bryn Mawr. I was convinced that the photographer pictured was from the Main Line Times and that Bryan was finally on his way to superstardom, albeit in a down home hometown kind of way, because while the Big Apple is up to its stem in Americana acts, I imagine the western Philadelphia suburbs are drooling for such a thing and Bryan is their man. But it turned out that the photog was a portrait artist who liked Bryan's look. So I still got my dreams.

Below, another poem to cheer you—

This morning so far is sublime
I'm up before the kids
Sipping my coffee
Even taking some time
To check my email

Slipping down the spiraly slide
The internet escape
Five thousand miles wide

MOMMY! you scream
You're up
It's time for breakfast
All this time I wasted
Looking at Craigslist

Imagining all the things
I could do with the space
If only you were thirty
And had your own place

I guess the guilty truth
Is that I wish I had my own apartment
A place that wouldn't get mucked up
As soon as you woke up

After I'd scrubbed and vacuumed the floors
They'd stay looking pristine for days galore
Then I'd get my real work done

I'd get back to my writing
Because I wouldn't spend
All my time cleaning up
After you and your sister

If you knew what's good for you mister
You'd pick up your toys
Keep your feet off the walls
Put your bowl in the sink

You and your brother
For freaking out loud
If only for once you'd think
Of your mother

(Meanwhile, I swore I'd never utter

"Think of your mother!"

But that was before

The incident with the peanut butter.)