nine koi and goldfish will slowly fin as you trim the lily pads, admire their flowers, pull algae, fill the fish feeder, backwash the filter and gather the fallen - leaves palm tree husks and other wind-blown debris scattered in the pool, pond, yard be vigilant in the seasons- summer’s ripening mangoes winter’s limes and oranges pomegranates in the fall it would be best if you were a person who likes to putter but if you are a poet, perhaps ignore some of those sugges

July, they’re here for the heat, a body bake, an oven wrap their bones still bearing the chill of winter, wanting to thaw while the locals flee the mid-day sun these sledders, ice fisherman snow scrappers, blizzard babies are storing heat in the rivers of marrow in their bodies when one steps out of a car I ask, how you like the weather? It’s just like ours’ in Phoenix, but we rented this car and came here to spend the Fourth with my mom and dad and I say Oh, right.

I liked to watch him in his waiter white’s, resting on a wooden chair by the kitchen or wringing his hands, gleaning the movements of staff and patrons, towel slung over a shoulder. God knows all the jobs he once performed at his sixty-year-old restaurant, now reduced to swing man, simple gopher, ready to help where needed. I did hear that Billy Reed’s sold, so perhaps he retired, and I try to imagine a lazy Billy, waking up late, splashing water on his face, shuffling to