March
ii.
the ghosts of trees
and goddesses
are knocking
said the river let
them in
close your eyes
said the moon
rewind, rewind
rewind
to tell or
not
to tell
said time I’ve not
forgotten
Category: pick 52
Today
iii.
To you,
they are black t-shirts.
Who could ever need so many?
To me they are:
late on Monday and
first-time client and
ignore this bad hair day and
celebrate because day and
casual day and
not my birthday and
the bosses birthday and
bring your daughter to work day and
not every day and
no daycare today and
last weekend and
lost weekends and
just back from Mardi Gras and
family vacation and
in need of time off day and
the middle of Wednesday and
work-in-a-workout and
in-between seasons and should maybe have
just called in sick day and
hooray for the team day and
it’s raining again day and
we can pretend, but it’s still
not quite payday and if
time, being time,
forget this kiss,
then yes.
On that day, they will seem
like a stack of black t-shirts,
plus one.
Who could ever need so many?
Today
ii.
Patrons sift through
newspapers. Open
today’s mail. Try to ignore
the sportscast vs.
muffled oldies
competition.
One pair wanders,
drawn toward pop
machine. Then vending.
Father buys peanut butter,
Orange Crush. Son gets
chocolate chip, Mt. Dew and
replica
of father’s chin.
Startled goose
calls out
from son’s
back pocket. The ride’s
here.
Repair-shop window
watches. Blinks.
Thinks this
could
be a postcard.
Stay
iv.
you are
a morning fog, floor
exercise
hell bent on
tumbling into
traffic.
somersault and
roll, half-twist whisk
beads of sweat
at windshields.
transit drivers glance
and wipe, commuters
file into offices
just one small
rabbit
stays to watch
the end
of your routine, no
scoring
cards, no
roses.