I don’t know how to age a tree, without cutting it open to count the rings. This tree in front of the tan house, taller than its two stories, is it older than me? Did it once watch my yellow
Silver tresses fly wild and old bones bend double as she leans into the wind, wields hammer and chisel against a letter box, rusted shut. The question echoes each blow: How long since they’ve spoken?
We found the surprise tied with yellow ribbon, bow hanging loose on the door. Broken glass said the piñata had already burst open, its bulging sides struck with long handles and black bottomed boots. The invitation said Do Not but the first
Come on, son, pull your head out of the bag. Keep moving. I know it hardly seems fair, the way she slices you. It’s rough how she hooks you, drags you screaming to the bunker. She’s given you the shanks
She left me dry like chalk on my tongue on the sidewalk in the sunshine dripping buttery posies (a found poem in a facebook conversation)
I played barbed wire Limbo today Rusty spur snagged a piece of my shirt Poor old she-cattle might trip on the thread Before she picks up the electric alert