They were gigantic.
Skilled. But I kept showing up,
hoping to be picked.
Tag: Poetry
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I see them. Their pores.
Their textures. Their sharp noses
and broken smiles.
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Clock hands tick faster
with short naps, smoked chuck, egg hunts,
and FaceTime laughter.
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seeps through the Keurig.
Charcoal water spills over.
No room for creamer.
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Bird songs ring. Listen.
Lark? Jay? Raven? Warbler?
I have no idea.
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His metallic prose
gleams. Perfect lines burn from his
cobalt typewriter.
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All of these words have
been used before, but never
in this arrangement.
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I know I should call
you more often, but each night
I say, tomorrow.
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A good brother in
law, makes you salt his beer. But,
will lend you his van.
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Sometimes the grass is
purple, sprouting from star baked
dirt, light years away.
Floodlights and Goalposts 