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A HUMMINGBIRD
At Nora’s first post-divorce Labor Day bashthere’s a fluster and a fuss and a fidgetin the fuchsia bells.“Two fingers of sour mash,a maraschino cherry.” “So the digit’sstill a unit of measurement?” “While midgetscontinue to demand a slice of the cake.”“A vibrator,you know,
that
kind of widget.”Now a ruby-throated hummingbird remakesitself as it rolls on through mid-forest brake.“I’m guessing she’s had a neck lift
and 
lipo.”“You know I still can’t help but think of the
Wake
as the apogee,you know,of the typo.”Like an engine rolling on after a crash,long after whatever it was made a splash.
101
 
A SECOND HUMMINGBIRD
Yet another money manwith a finger in the tillat Flavor & Fragrance,my ownnot standing stillno less a stancethan his,the only groundsfor his existencenow being to make such roundsand roundelays as mine,to touchwhat I’ve come to seeas the raw nervein each of us,eachdoomed to think himself ever soslightly behind some curve.
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Scribd

April is National Poetry Month!

reply07 / 26 / 2011
Scribd

April is National Poetry Month!

reply07 / 26 / 2011
Robin Postell

Well done, uncommon, unafraid. R

reply04 / 17 / 2011
Scribd

April is National Poetry Month!

reply04 / 01 / 2011
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