Poem 3, June 3   Driving from Rice Subdivision   Wind from the southwest strips white blooms from Bradford Pears that line the street.  

Like large snowflakes in February, they create a blizzard & fall, covering grass in white.  

I remember two winters in a row when I lay on frozen ground, ratting the sewer line.

  I hear my father’s voice talking about men freezing to death in the Battle of the Belgium Bulge.  

At the stop sign while I wait, I close my eyes. The warmth of your skin

when I massaged your shoulders & your neck excites me… The driver behind me honks–my eyes open.