Michael Andrews Arts

See Announcements for details on publication of Archilochus poems in Arion Magazine.

Not Another Love Poem

Current Project


This set of love poems and pictures is for my wife Flo.
We have been married since 2005, but we have been together since 1968. We own a house in Hermosa Beach and Flo is set to retire at the end of June 2011. With outrageous good luck maybe we will travel to some Greek island, hold hands and watch the sea.
Flo is my lover, my angel, my sunshine and without her I have no reason to get out of bed in the morning.
Flo saved my life many times. She kept me going in LA County/USC hospital after the motorcycle accident that changed our lives forever. It is Flo that pays for me to not make a cent making my art, and for working on our now decesed friend Dick Miller's legacy.
Without Flo I might just as well dig a deep hole and climb in for that extended dirt nap in the sky.
Perhaps one day I will get this book into print, or, god knows, some other publisher will take the chance by the short and curlies and their hearts and minds will follow.




In Tucson We Said Adios
   March, 1979

The air is bleeding meat.
It's cactus and chile.
I am sweating 30 weight oil
and diesel fuel.
We just beat the rain
peel away our banana rain gear
eat and talk and shower
the obligatory TV
and fall like dust
into bed.

You are nervous as a cat
at bath time.
I am spitting chunks of meat.
It's hot.
We make love.
We make the motions.
I hate goodbyes.
I wake up sweating T-bone steaks.
The air is full of prickly pears and burnt liver.
The sky is the color of all the eyes in Sweden.

You are soft in the morning.

You drink hot tea
to irrigate some desert
you need to flood.

You insist that you can cut my hair
and you do.
I am afraid of the mirror.

We drive to the airport
in your father's 400 horsepower Buick.
I hold your hand in the lobby.
It is always your hand I remember
going away.

I can't get through the security check
with my 27 knives and my attitude.
We kiss
cactus and hamburger bleeding from the sky
it almost rains, your eyes
turning toward the gate
I watch you go

prickly pears and burnt liver.