A Day of Sometime Sun
you, a packrat
a luncheon of puckey
meaning leftovers
I, wrinkled hands
date with the dishes
ghosts from the burial ground
are barely noisy
sometimes watching our TV
they tease the cats
who treat them like mirrors
they cannot smell
eight, the number of
toenails you possess
(and also)
the number of fallen trees
Copyright © John Bertin | Year Posted 2017
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