The oak is in its mast year again.
Your laughter
is the sweet honey
drawn from honeysuckle—
the childhood joy
so many of us lost
before we learned
the weight of toil.
Hold tight, sweet girl,
and throw your head back
as you swing.
Let the wind
steady your shoulders,
your legs carrying you
toward the sky.
May your imagination remain
a wildflower,
untamed and bright,
growing in the meadow
where generations before you
forgot how to wander.
Young rabbits tonight
I see three cross the road for Seventy Six Falls
up to the Maurice Thomas Road
where my sister lives
and one darts into the driveway
toward my brother-in-law’s house
and turns into the tall grass.
All the young rabbits are half grown
or less, even the one I watch
run across my driveway
at home.
Cats prowl at night.
Coyotes howl in the woods
behind my house.
I am reminded of the rabbits
taken to Australia
where they had no predators.
Rabbit proof fences were constructed
to keep the rabbits out,
so overpopulated they became.
Needless to say,
I will dream of rabbits tonight.
Summer programs
days of fun
getting paid to stand around
in this hot field.
Kids go in
and then go out
and then they go in again.
Usually screaming.
(They’re always screaming.)
This is probably a gold mine,
I’m sure there’s so much that I could do with
this blessed premise.
But I have a splitting headache
and I just saw a stray dog chase a kid
that was holding a half eaten pizza
and I think my job description says
that I have to go deal with that.
Stuck on its sharp, definite simmer,
lapsing minutes feign exigency.
Remain patient as a dog at the heel
of someone possessing something
it is not allowed to eat. Salivate
over seconds, attention span
lengthening, dialed in on the one
thing that needs to be ignored.
Time, to pass, needs you to forget
the reminder of itself: the watched
pot steams until evaporation,
the ice of your eye keeping it
always below temperature.
