Your grandmother’s house became our summer home, at the time you claimed it was to help her out in her old age, but really it was to escape your parents
Bassdrop I walk with gusto because I simply cannot wait. A bouncy kind of trot with my feet click click clicking against the pavement, causing eyes to watch me glide
Dangle I suffer suspended from his body, hanged by my own desire, neck taut, twanging like a fishing line pulled tight, not with a delicious prize at the end, but
Mockingbird Morning Feathers slicked down, he trills and chirps mourning dove’s song. Her chicks raise their heads from the nest. He swoops, stealing their food. Mama is away. I run
Ham & Havarti on Sourdough This is a poem about animals on the farm of which I am one a poem about their actions swine and lion factions a fascination
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