Sunday, October 2, 2016



                                     Three hawks are visiting from out of town.

They are unanimously
disliked by the locals.
A jittery uproar
erupts into flight
as they make their way
                  towards our home.

I do not speak bird
but I know the sound
of fear, panic, and
an invisible line
                   being crossed.

Not one of us
are brave enough
to escort them
off the premises
but who wants to stick
around with all
that racket?

                                     We exit the yard in unison.

Closed Umbrella

Closed Umbrella

This wind is too much for you.
Rain be damned.

You are a tight
fist fighting back
the only way
you know how;
stiff jointed
and leaning.

The wind has been taken from me.
I curse myself.

Without the grasp
of working hands,
I am still
middle aged
and all purpose
is lost.