Retention Pond
If displaced, found nowhere, but in water
of the retention pond,
no longer in V-formation, nowhere
in the bluest sky,
however, beneath and at the behest
of angels, ruled by God,
it is my greenest eyes that you swim in,
as I exit the highway.
This exit didn’t exist when Mom was alive,
nor the quick stop, QT,
that I pass by, so close to my dad’s house.
On a cul-de-sac, road’s end,
I pull into his short, straight driveway, push
open the door, unlocked.
I quick-tell my story of the seized geese,
it was only mine to tell,
of how I saw their takeoff as if they were planes
leaving the lonely spot,
their brief stay with only my mind and heart
to excite; somewhere lifting
into the gray, blue day prodded on by
a host of angels.
Dad doesn’t recall the retention pond; is
it nowhere
but in my imagination; oh no,
it is so real, beyond nowhere, somewhere
where his eyes can’t see,
for Dad drives straight to the liquor store,
prepared to see olives
in his martini; but he’s happy to see geese fly
out my retentive mouth.
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