windrag : poetry : journal

:: f : w : i : w ::

growth

it’s worth celebrating–
the tree in the parking strip
no longer needs its prop

overheard

unseasonably hot,
the language is unfamiliar, but
the joy is unmistakable

sleepless

failing to be quiet,
i eat potato chips and write
a poem while they snore.

city council

arriving late to bring the boy to school—
an impromptu neighborhood meeting occurs.
i’m not the only one inspired to start a band
by this spring morning’s young songbirds.

sore

despite this winning
streak, tears on the baseball field.
dusty afternoon.