early
Monday
morning
I look back
to last days
blurred
in a juxtaposed
potpourri
weekend weeding
garden slugs
tossed to the turtle
poetry submission
“up to five”
Belgian abbey ale “it tastes like flowers!”
vehicle safety inspection
a dolphin pod
mid-day nap
and grocery shop
another wedding dress arrives
too big
and my favorite weekend moment:
island road
me
at the wheel
the Bohemian
hand on my knee
Jeb
in the back seat
we three
driving
quiet
no words
making beds
instead
of writing poetry
there only
comes
a title
enter Zelva
with a czech
‘z’
that sounds
like
‘zj’
what does it mean
when your eight year old
is struggling
in the morning
with shorts that are too big
you’re making pancakes
but thinking of that book
you want to write
if only there was time
there’s that
slow
moving
turtle
in the backyard
the one that just
showed up one day
making you all
pause
stop
and stare
observing
every hint
of movement
each one
counting
so very much
enter Zelva
putting us all
in some sort
of meditative
state
wondering
about the world
inside her shell
I wake
open the door
to fresh morning light
seeping on to
the plumeria tree
outside
the one the Bohemian’s been watering
it overflows in flowers
too much to hold
blooms sprinkle and fall
in the slightest breeze
besides observing the evidence
of prolific irrigation
I’m roused by the faint
onset of early traffic
from the nearby
high way
I sift through dreams
of wedding dresses that are too big
and question
whether the Von Trapp family
really walked out of Austria
to escape
I make summertime vows
to learn to sew
so I can wear what I want
wonder if a second cup of coffee
at 5:57am
is inappropriate
think about my girlfriends
who’ve been married for ten years
and how they muster up enthusiasm
for my recent engagement
but I can feel
it’s a tired, trying hope
I wonder at these postings
a potpourri of words
just flashes of passing thought forms
portending
or haphazard?
abundant flowers
an oversized dress
the sound of music
stimulants
and the seven-year itch
It’s a Tuesday
this morning
as the Shama sings
and all in my house
still sleep