Against the Worms

 
Such a shame
to waste these
opposable thumbs.

I should throttle a buttercup
or thump-thump-thump
type a thesis

or finger a saxophone
while she rises from the tub
singing her siren song.

Something to show I was here,
my juices soaking the bun
between bouts of shuffling.

The whole time
birdsong bounced from the branches
as we throbbed.

This voluptuous ticking
match-by-match until
the heft and heave ceases.

Only then
does the prickling make sense, tumors
amounting to nothing

in the end.




Arranged Like May June July August

 
Thin clouds
passed through a cheese grater
and scattered overhead

An urgent yip yip
a ponderous arr arr
nothing from the koi pond

A tailless squirrel
next to my father’s coffee mug
half-full of rainwater

Our little family
lost among all the multitude of little families
at the fair