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Poem

Here everybody drains the swamp
The chunks of toxic glitter
And brazen meat
Intelligible only to the daunted fool
Who filled it so
Pour the acid wash
Of peace and indulgence
To cleanse the slop o’ plenty
Time for mixes and fixes
That clear paths meant
For hot-air balloon rides
The kind that tussle deep in minds
Your liquid child
Who gulps, swallows and bears
The scorekeeper’s duties
Flits to the sounds of no one
The barracks are full this morning
Everyone spent from their rustic tasks
And yet for each
An adventure conducted
A melee for the me, the you
Which song was meant for
Nature, well-planted
Well-colored and ready to play
Nurture, whipped and spun
By the gunslinger’s steady hand
Brought together by
The collective spirit
Lurking in each room
Strewn, lathered across
Each chaise lounge
Splashing, soaking
In the wet, cool debris
Healthy debris
Doggy bags supplied
To bring home
The leftovers
Eager to be consumed.

(6/10/18)

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