as love’s shift approaches
she’s already awake and times
her punch card to an imprecise moment
when she casually drops seeds of affection
into the hearts of the poorest of the poor
or the richest of the rich and waits
to see who is smart enough
to build the portfolio
on which to retire
happy
snorers are braggarts they say to the sleepless I can even hum a tune while I do it
the squeal of rubber rips the silence as a fast driver carves up the invisible night with an extended tortured note and skid marks when it stops I close my eyes wait for crickets to serenade the darkn
walking out my front door I’m assaulted by the awful stink of thousands of mango blossoms but oh what a miracle when they morph into handfuls then armfuls of ambrosia as if a hangover could turn into