(after Jack Spicer)

I am thinking of the tall trees,
and how beneath all the green distracting leaf
can lie rotted roots. I am thinking of the family
with eight kids, the ones always on TV,
and how indiscretions have finally bubbled up
all over the papers, jacking up their ratings.
I am thinking of my house, and how I don’t know
if termites are turning the frame to sawdust.
I am thinking about the lion behind that boulder,
the drunk plowing through that red light,
the e. coli in that hamburger. I am thinking of
all the times I sat on the first-base line
and didn’t get whacked in the forehead
by a line drive, and all the times I should have.
I am thinking about what’s in the box.
I am thinking about what’s under her dress.
I am thinking about riptides and covert operations,
insider trading and scratch-off lottery cards.
I am thinking about what I said to you last night,
and how like a cancer it was,
painless at first, but later destroying
all the good cells between us.

02/06/2012

Author's Note: First published in Schuylkill Valley Journal, 2010.

Posted on 02/07/2012
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