Res Poetica
Another day slews into the ditch,
jolting its occupants
but suffering only slight damage.
That ship that ran aground
and blocked the Suez Canal,
stifling the China-Europe trade,
has been refloated. Meanwhile
the President has stayed upright
for several uneventful hours
and vaccination against the plague
continues at a moderate rate.
You feed baby food to the cat,
whose digestive system asks
the most awkward questions about
pet food from our local market.
I sit at the computer and fret
over weather and the stock market,
two factors I can’t unfold.
The light has hardened like a tusk.
Wind shivers standing timber
and tumbles birds from their nests.
My friends in the suburbs report
a sudden increase in crime
as noon shadows disappear
in the heightening spring glare,
exposing the existentialists.
Downtown where the subway lines
cross in perpetual rumbles
the odor of winter woolens
has already dissipated, leaving
only a whisper of dark nostalgia.
While you box the cat for a trip
to the vet I stare at the screen
and hope the constant turnover
of the calendar doesn’t apply
to fixed moments listed above.