The day lilies greeted me
with a wink
that I answered
with my own shimmy,
not heeding the neighbors
or the squawking ridicule
of the morning woodpecker.
When the sweetness
of his smile tastes like
unwanted pepper
upon a perfect egg face
and the only stirring
is of a breezy skirt
as she leaves,
this is what worry
can look like
in a spoon.
Pennsylvania snapshot
Tonight smells of charred
meat -juicy on the inside-
with a healthy whiff of
diesel and cigar and gardenia
along with fresh mown hay
and a nearby possum that didn’t make it
several days ago;
the magic of dusk mingles
with decay and lush greenery
to make an olifactoral postcard.
Second thoughts for the albatross
The day began with a hero
saving an albatross in the weeds.
She was a prodigy
of predicting end-times,
though thunderstorms were always a surprise.
Before the days of needing forgiveness,
she danced in the grass
near powerful men
sitting in lawn chairs,
balancing cups on knees
and cigars between teeth,
planning the world
like a beautiful mushrooming explosion.
She vowed to ask the next albatross
where it was going before saving it.
Summer at a burled table
He gently read her poems aloud
while mosquitoes made figure eights
and the river slowed to hear.
The smell of lighter fluid
made the path feel like a time machine
with salty air, curses, and Italian ice.
She listened to what wasn’t said
through his gestures and rustling leaves
like love words in smoldering charcoal.
