The boy in the window
where the sun is shining
does not see me.
Nor does he hear
the leaf blower. (I’d like
not to, too, even if
it’s electric.)
There’s skittering and
a bird I don’t know
and more in the time
that this happened.
In that long slow fall
you could almost —
you almost thought the cold
would never come.
Flares us inside.
I’d be tempted
to walk them
were they not so narrow.
Shades of green
Shades of shades
A single shade bent
The eye behind it
I hate Halloween
There’s word of a pollen borne
by migrating birds — of a wing-
and wind-driven affliction.
One cedes possibilities of nitrates —
what are they again?
marching to strangle key arteries.
I’ve tried fans, I’ve tried blood-
thinners. But dogs will die
and rabbits will fly
ere I figure this out.
And drove there and then –
I read a piece once
about Chinatown waiters –
about the hours they worked
and the money they made,
and how they sent it all home.
Someday I’ll watch
the traffic go by.
I’ll pour the soup
and won’t spill a drop.
Will be found on page 3.
The fine print on page 7
does not apply to those
who have already exceeded standards of “less worse”
in their daily life
and thus are out playing ball,
as they should.
You came to me willing
and I laid you bare
until daddy came along
and saw the leaves in your hair
Banking left
she sprays little clouds
and we ask, as she goes
why we never met
Moaning while pruning,
I find you
little man
slinking away from a fruit
you shouldn’t have eaten
in a season
it shouldn’t have known.
The fruit is the fruit
of God’s jumbo garden;
the season’s the season
of wisdom undone.
Utrecht Journal 