Thursday, April 11, 2024




For Saundra

i wanted to write

a poem

that rhymes

but revolution doesn’t lend

itself to be-bopping

then my neighbor

who thinks i hate

asked—do you ever write

tree poems—i like trees

so i thought

i’ll write a beautiful green tree poem

peeked from my window

to check the image

noticed the school yard was covered

with asphalt

no green—no trees grow

in manhattan

then, well, i thought the sky

i’ll do a big blue sky poem

but all the clouds have winged

low since no-Dick was elected

so i thought again

and it occurred to me

maybe i shouldn’t write

at all

but clean my gun

and check my kerosene supply

perhaps these are not poetic


at all

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