Saturn

Sit on the planet Saturn. Like a sassy urn. Wait until the waiter walks over. A four leaf clover. Help yourself to the lucky plate. With chicken wings that you only thought you ate. Maybe take a fork and let it fly. Into the evil eye. Sit on a planet like earth. Feel the birth. Rocks sliding down the mountain. I already sent in my job application. I could sit in bed and write. The plight of the kite. Or the knight who has a boxcutter in his hand. Who sinks it into the ice cream as if it’s sand. At a funeral, I could cry as much as they say I should. Or remember that old neighborhood. Where we took a walk. Where we shook the tree like a hawk. A four leaf clover in the afternoon. It always feels too soon. Moving from outer space to the grassy hills. Writing my wills. If poems could walk. They would be fast like that corn stalk. If poems could run in circles. The funeral would be full.