My Blog

A wasp flies into my water bottle.

I do not know this.  I bring

The water bottle inside.  The wasp

Climbs up to the lip,

Pulses his wings

A couple times, and then starts

Flying around the house.

He flies

When I was a boy, I would wait

Patiently all week for Batman.

The show aired Fridays at seven.

Everybody loved him.  10,000

Concussions a year cannot be wrong.

 

My cousins liked Batman,

But they liked Cochise

Red Cloud thought he could negotiate

With the U. S. Government [the business end

Of the superwealthy who, then as now, wish

To possess, control and consume everything] and secure

Relative tranquility for

My mother cultivated a bramble of wild rose

She could view as she washed dishes or made sausage rolls

In the kitchen.  It was the bane of the neighbor’s dachshund

Who would yelp, stung by its thorns.  If misborn,

A sparrow

I grew up on the Italian side of town.

Never mind the best Irish pub was in the midst

Of all this, near the drug-filled

Park and the frozen skating pond

In February as the late afternoon sun

Turned the hill into a