when the cottonwood
thickens the air and the frogs
return to lend their
voices to the night's
chorus, and the fireflies blink
their staccato code
as they trace the dusk
along the back garden wall,
my thoughts turn to you –
you tea partying
scum of a plagiarist – who
will fail at so much
more that matters much
more … and I reach for the wine,
pour another glass …
… and breathe … another
year in the books, another
confrontation to
end it, to remind
me that i'm just a cog in
a giant machine
that buzzes along
with the seaming industry
of bees, but with none
of their grace,
or honey.
Thanks. I will re-read in the morning to jump-start my day.
ReplyDeleteHi,Greta! How wonderful to see a new poem from you -- and on the solstice, too. I like the image of the university as a not-very-productive hive/factory, though it's a depressing one as well. I hope you get some time to enjoy the garden, and the fireflies, this summer (and I'm reminded that I should go check out the one cottonwood nearby, though I suspect that, in our more southerly climes, it has already done its thing while I was busy with other matters).
ReplyDeleteWhat an odd and jarring juxtaposition - the evening garden and a punk. Startled me. I like it.
ReplyDeleteGreta! Good to see you back! Please write more, we've missed you!
ReplyDelete