don’t let the bedbugs bite
under the poplar’s shade
the world passes by –
my big eyes absorb it,
the sway of human traffic,
squirrels preparing for the future,
the grass, carpet to whim
who feeds the grass but
the dead, pushing it up
into consciousness through
our dreams – I yearn
for that cold comfort,
the rest, darkness
I remember father
built a swing for us,
hours of flying, of rocking
to soft melodies, the shock
when my older brother
pushed me off, loss of breath
where is he now
to push me down?
first step to getting back
up – but the jig’s up;
all I have is to wait,
watching weary clouds
swinging in the breezes
in the shade of this
old friend, hugging me close
until the rope breaks
or the hungry ravens
peck out my eyes
