opening the near-empty
refrigerator of star dust,
i catch the sun rolling over.

i see my mama's bosom: a left hand.
her right balancing a mountain
of strawberries in her sunbonnet.

barber shops filled with old men
who are giving out bushels of smiles
while the lips of the universe are near-shut.

yet, just enough rain slips through for a grin;
then a cue from stage left: act like you are not.
as a righteous woodpecker tunnels a hole in the air.

05/10/2007