all the fun in the world
bottled
sugar pop plunks and rolls away
what did we say about garbage in the lake?
but daddy's are meant to get things -
past the lake floor jug,
and her sister car-keys,
and last year's truant lures.
we're standing by, a useless sketch -
to "daddy are you looking
and daddy hurry look"
the bet-placers
the place-betters
the kind of dive that keeps the partners smiling.
i wish i could freeze the
inward tuck
point out where it was you went wrong -
landing so unlady-like,
bringing home those boys.
our youngest and his beanbag chair
scraped across the dock.
a shifting continent of towels, of
flipflop, of
grass.
years until he's dizzy, stuck in his throat.
the distance of the high-board touched and
measured with a toe.
rename the sky
monday
comes an unmanned probe;
dizzy, stuck in our throats.
this cramped house, these rotten ships
the never to be had.
god, romance -
all space junk turning slow above a
neighbouring continent.
we’ll take it out in
lifting our skirts;
this irreversible change,
this possibility in a poem.
ideas like mountains on other planets,
facts thrown into question
as we climb into our pulpbooks
in beds in shapes like cars.
Siding
sure,
you made the right choice
it's a lot less painting - I know,
you like to save the work.
should compliment the Christmas lights still dating
the same nail.
won't be knocking pucks out of practice,
though it gave the wall character
like the tiny hairs on my shoulders I got from you.
so what should we do for the next billion
years, while the seasons have at us,
and test our warranty?
and what to tell the grandkids
running on the grass I once cut,
their memories still
a juvenile sugar.
