Behind the Vine
I wonder at what you’ve left for me,
How did you know I’d be
In how the tree and the vine combine?
How could you know I’d stop to see you there?
…I guess that’s why you’re everywhere.
It’s not that I wanted to kick you in the mouth
But our proposal was going south
As you bit off, and continuously chewed
Both of your feet as if they were food.
The unripened Avocado locks Guacamole in its potential form.
I’m amazed that God didn’t make Guac the norm.
Perhaps a sort of Algae for the fish to eat,
floating on in ooze that turtles would meet
before learning ninjutsu from a rat.
Why wouldn’t God think of that?
White siding changes to pink
In a sunset drink
To be consumed by the dark
Softening shadows that mark
The creeping line of night
Until, without a fight,
Shadow fades with light.
Sometimes sleep’s call to me
Is louder than poetry.
I breathe in to fill my lungs
with traveled air from where
the orange crackles care
to tackle toes with warm.
While lightning bug illusions swarm
Before the smell of campfire’s let out
Choosing a route that goes
directly to my nose
and fills my lungs with the good
of my childhood.