At the very last gasp of the holiday,
team Urshie and I on cooking and coffee,
cracking the whip on the vacuuming:
“Go to it, Benny-boy,” and Joe taking out bins.
“Put your shoes on first!” Nothing out there
but precipitation and empty boughs;
beyond rain-patterned windows, tops
of the junipers slumped in misery.
So I stride out to be drizzled on, find
the birds still there, of course, peeping,
not very happy either. Ha. Ink blotches
and blurs as I write with gel-pen present.
I shake the washing line, stand defiant, fat*
like Rodin’s chunky statue of Balzac.
.................................
*Maybe not quite in that league.
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Winter Trails
PoetryWinter Trails is an album of my poems, journeying through late fall when the wire of the trees begins to dominate, till the end of January. After promoting it and it soaring to three quarter million reads, Wattpad unceremoniously dumped it. Here it...
