almanac
it’s nearly may. the morning bird-song is just
beginning to build momentum, and the smoking
tree is much less lush than this time last year.
what will summer sound like?
it’s nearly may. the morning bird-song is just
beginning to build momentum, and the smoking
tree is much less lush than this time last year.
what will summer sound like?
i try first with the flute to find the changes
(the guitar got left at the church) then hack
away at the piano, getting lost–
a truly heartrending ballad
the workday’s done, (if you can call it work),
the body rests (if you can call
it still), the mind moves (if you call the same
old expectations ‘moving’)
i wheel the trusty bike off to the market
pedal and coast, and then i park it
i shop and race back home, and what a dope
forgot the laundry soap
laurel likes to punch me in the stomach
and loves the slap-hands games my dad
used to play with me. we cover our faces, make elephant trunks,
adapt to each other’s sizes