Forest Reflections

Waldgeschmack - Forest Flavour 60 x 80 cm mixed media on multi media board

REFLECTIONS, SHARDS, FRAGMENTS

At first you reminded

me of someone I should avoid.

Someone rough or merely

too energetic, like three power plants

hooked up to a weapon of mass destruction.

In the evening pale glitter

luster of frozen sequins

and morning dress as somber as

a priest’s raiment. Ten thousand days

till spring till spring till fucking spring.

Let me ease your troubled mind

a shrink said to me from his peeling stoop,

sounding like the lyric of a Simon and Garfunkel song.

Standing up straight, he looked better,

cleaner, more qualified. All of a sudden!

But he still wore that wild blond afro.

Nonetheless, I was intrigued.

Never had I had pigeon pie before.

I slowly began to connect it up

to an ethnic identity thing. An “issue.”

Her eyes were full of that challenge. I cracked through its crust.

Hips. Thighs. Breasts. Hair. Of child-

bearing breadth. A slight twitch of muscle

beneath downy skin. Present but not

overly insistent, the tips of which seeking air

however and lips. Every day a good one.

I knew he was in trouble when he started tap dancing.

I knew I was in trouble because he looked just like Fred Astaire.

Look, Fred, I said, I’ve never been much of a fan.

Likewise, he said, but my name’s Gene, asshole, not Fred.

Winter is a drained snow cone.

Spring is pollen dusted jogging shoes.

Summer is sweat. All the time.

Fall is just a variation on autumn.

Shards of pigeon pie. Pinot Grigio spilled in her lap.

Outside the trees whisper to each other, peer

through the window, gossip fitfully.

Wind clutches at us all. Yokes common misunderstandings together.

Who should repair the light switch? Flash the stones?

Take me to the shore is all I ask. A place to bask, soak, dissolve.

America

Simon and Garfunkel