barking

Posted on November 2, 2007 by riverwriter

1970 Christmas Eve near the Rio Grande
in our trailer in the orange grove
firecrackers dogs and roosters
repeat the bang bark cockadoodle
sporadically all night

We miss the hush of snow
much as kids miss daddies
tokin’ it up in Vietnam
caroles are the same
blonde Mexican Talking Barbi
barking perros and firecrackers
roosters and oranges on branches
cheap beer in supermarkets

2007 November near the St. Lawrence
in our house surrounded by winded maples
traffic and ipods tracking down the street
the barking is me opening my yap
crowing my opinions like fireworks
in my personal heavens
Canucks in Afganada dying
world is warming up everywhere
buying a burka Barbi for Christmas?

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reversed

Posted on November 1, 2007 by riverwriter

In fall the world is upsidedown:
instead of branches
roots reach for the sky
and leaves reach down for branches
clutched in earth

Soon snow will bury all
and ghosts of summer
will play under all
on bed of leaves
not needing shade of naked limbs
to shield them from
the blackened undersun

Until the spring
when leaves creep
out of limbs
and all is right again

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laughing

Posted on October 31, 2007 by riverwriter

What was it?
some mistake, a silly word
some context out of joint
—wild animal in my shorts—
it starts the laugh

the tumbling down
the slippery slope
into the gasp for breath
a pause, respite
tears down the cheeks
slumping backward
against the corner of the doorway
giggling like an antidote to tears
both of us typecast
idiots out of control

and this is where
familiarity
slides us into
a comfortable ease
we smile and relax
and try to remember
but not too hard
leaning on each other
what started this

o yes—

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