Busted!

Mister skateboarder, thinking you’re cool;
Flexing and posing on the way to school.
You think you’re so hot. You think you’re really cooking
But I saw you hitch your shorts up when you thought no one was looking.

Albedo

When Philosophers speak of gold and silver,
From which they extract their numinous matter,
Are we to suppose that they refer
To the vulgar gold and silver?
Our friends are already in the cafeteria,
Sitting around the table, considering the
Tan squares in their bowls. Oatmeal? Meatloaf?
Should they add catsup or brown sugar?
Yesterday a squirrel was sitting on the roof
Just below the eaves. It looked right at me
Though I was on the other side of the window.
It was eating an ungarnished acorn, seemed
Confident in its choice of entree, holding it up
As if to say “See? Ask Paracelsus. Some things
Are best left pure. Gold and silver and acorns and moss.”

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)

Camaraderie

Feels good:
Laughing with friends
By the school, each of us
Waving a poster of a dead
Fetus.

Winter Afternoon

The yellow schoolbus disappears, reappearing
above a clump of evergreens as it labors
uphill to deliver its passengers to their homes,
homes warmed by the smell of roasting meat, carrots, potatoes,
Noble firs, gingerbread cookies, coffee brewing, fires crackling at the hearth.
Silver plumes of smoke rise from the chimneys on the hillside
Then join the steely storm clouds bringing snow.