march winds on the outskirts of town
bow and nod to the trees that notice;
a cow at a milk barn knows she's next.

breathless, the seconds keep running
as if they had somewhere better to go.

now when i'm twisting and turning
i find i have to look quick to catch
my shadow; he's always behind
and he never catches up til noon;

gestures of humanity ebb and flow
like the euphrates on either bank;
slicky slime dries, gets wet again
as the mosquitos hum mournfully.

sun's out, following a rainy morning;
we'd say the devil's beatin' his wife.
but that was as a kid, we know now
the devil isn't married.

as i scoop once living buds from my pool, broken
and discareded by the warmer winds of courage;
the march-warm sap, an oasis of protein inside,

and i realize all we really gotta do is live and die;
the rest: either too much or too little.

02/25/2010

Posted on 02/25/2010
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan