It is summer here and flowering
After five years the irises
Ashes rise up into the leaves
Your long dark hair

The whole yard slopes down
Twenty miles away to the Sound
Woodpecker on the deck
Startled neither by the dog

Nor by my pounding on the wall
I am pounding on the wall
There is no such thing as an objective
I think I’m going to puke

Don’t tell me you didn’t

Brian Clements |  > > > > >
Contents | Mudlark No. 49 (2013)