Roadside Poppies

Roadside poppies
Made adamantine
By last night’s rain
Shone in this morning’s sun
Like Maureen’s fresh-painted toenails.

Some Who Wander Are, In Fact, Lost

Driving down dark back roads in the rain,
Looking for the house…of a boy.
He’s one of my daughter’s classmates
And we think his name is “Marcus”
Or maybe not cuz if his name was “Marcus”
Or something like that
Wouldn’t it stick in your memory?
Wait! We’ve found a note-
On a crumpled piece of paper
In the bottom of her right front pocket-
That says his name…is actually “John”
Which makes so much more sense really
Than if his name were “Marcus” and she forgot.
Turns out there is no “Marcus”; there’s only “John”.
Hence the note on the barely readable paper.
And look! Below the name…there’s an address.
Who’d believe it but there’s an address.
And so we’re going to take…one more leap of faith
And we’ll assume the address below the name
Belongs to John and was written there today.
Now we’re driving down dark back roads in the rain,
Looking for the house…of a boy named “John”.

Wednesday Morning

Rain fell.
It touched the hot covers of the ventilation shafts.
It turned to steam, rising to mix with the other
Rain still falling, mingling like the tears and prayers of
Students making their way to first period exams.

Noon

clogged storm drains, puddles
spread, lunching workers leap and
splash like frantic fish

So Much Depends

so much
depends upon an orange flag
held out stiffly
by a girl with rain-stringy hair
and her
big sister’s flowered galoshes

(Inspired by William Carlos Williams and the afternoon Safety Patrol)