Nostalgia

Mornings you walk around in flip-flops to
remember the days of climbing that hill alone:
the old bare bones is already there, the courting stag
who grabbed your shoulders as you took mine and got
dirt on your blue sweater that time at the lake.

Then you start typing and cleaning surfaces:
talk in tongues to the skink about his sickness,
keep quiet in the car. (And now I'm sure I must have
cancer of the heart as well!) So yes let's see what would
bubble to the surface. I'll keep feeding it sweaters and hats,
remembering the days of climbing up the hill after you
past the big red barn and the swarming hens.

I will sit and pine I will, yes I will pine and you will
see me at it and with a dream in tow this time as well.
Then all will be better and go away, diamonds in a ring,
each note on all six strings, a bedside bookshelf and
my big black hooves dancing like a rooster.


2011