recycling day
i run outside to catch my landlady bernice
to tell her that i dreamed of how
to level her toolshed with pea-gravel, but i’m too late
and the tea is getting bitter
i run outside to catch my landlady bernice
to tell her that i dreamed of how
to level her toolshed with pea-gravel, but i’m too late
and the tea is getting bitter
everybody loves these sunny february days
crisp clear light and skin-hair sings
wasn’t it last year, about this time, that i saw you
sipping the air with a smile?
for the gift of having enough, i’m eternally grateful
corn tomatoes beans onions and rice–
i vow to deposit them lovingly into the toilet
with as little fanfare as possible
the walk from town is lined with sweet-smelling trees
and everyone seems to notice, tonight–
even the panhandlers. five years i’ve been in this place
and many things still remain nameless
“It is most noticeable that no one was ever known to whistle Bach.”
– Claude Debussy
walking home from the store, by the ballpark, with my bagfull of greens
whistling the courante from suite number 6
for ‘cello, i finish the movement, and pause, and then “bzzzzzzzzzzt”
the end of the ballgame. in D.