the invasion of the duckies

Coincidental
with the arrival
of my grandson
a considerable fleet
of small duckies
was observed
surrounding the bath tub
kwacks have been reported
in the vicinity

severally arrayed as
tummy surfers and
sand engineers
in bright beachwear
with pleasant grins
their silence
contributes to their
mysterious character

grandparents
have been known
to be enchanted by these
kwazy kwackers
and walked around
grinning for days
anyone
knowing what
this means
is invited to
enjoy it
while it lasts

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Party

He shakes his silvered head
like an old stallion comprehending
little but oats and sugar cubes.

Gaiety surges around tables:
white water roaring past
giant solitary boulders.

Servers bring salads, cheeses
lasagnas, chicken, roast boar—
tastebuds decline, overwhelmed.

A tango brings suits and gowns
suddenly animate to the floor
grannies rock chairs in rhythm.

Words crash against walls of sound
come in spurts like short wave radio:
politics, health, squirrels at feeders.

He remembers shaking his shiny mane
sharing nuzzled confidences,
warm sun instead of this winter.

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keyhole

somebody must have found
the little album of snaps
one print per page
photos taken that summer so long ago
flip through
past pixillated
sun-stained scenes
from an afternoon
so slender he
so young she
that beard
before they
before we
the leaf-entangled catwalk
the crooked rusty bridge
and as we close
and place it back
on a shelf
the sweetly sour aftertune
drifts

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