starts the morning
leans over the rail
and whinnies at
the large space
a wide-open field
of possibilities
while the click
of a stopwatch
at the end of the day
shows I never got far
from where I began
head down
browsing on sparse grass
just outside
the open gate
can’t remember how I became the family’s melon-cutter the one-handed wash and dry of a cannon ball is no easy trick nor is sawing through its armor plate to make deliverable fruit wedges unless I slic
Why the sly look Mr. Washington on your dollar bill? even the flash of a single tooth might say Yeah, man! and Abe Really? that faraway face on your five spot is the best you could do? you Mr.’s H
who isn’t in a fight with one thing or another battling weight struggling for money in the crossfire of an argument how about those invisible tanks we send to stop or even push back time? and then the