for Judi Baba
i
There is a sandstorm
and a mermaid.
We were putting away
the hourglasses
and counting
places at the table...
how many there were!
and how many
mermaids
were caught in the sand.
ii
She denied the feathers
of harder crows. They
walked away with the silverware
iii
Backgrounds
for bad movies
we pretended...
skating across our excitement
just like that--the
push off--the
penalty box. We
were ready.
Our white socks
were ready.
iv
Gone from the table,
expected by
someone with large eyes.
v
Later, the weather
soared pat the station wagon
and rested.
Our best lives
passed the alkaloid
tests--red paper
falling into blue
around us. Like
the mermaid. Like
the sandstorm.
vi
Handsome, she thought,
growing models of named birds
in the backyard.
vii
Coincidence.
Or the lack of it.
We could have waked away.
The expected
icicles
were hand-me-downs
covering worn
surrounding day. The air
was cracking
into white angles.
viii
We swore
at the green shadows
following us. As always.
ix
Here,
on the bridge
of the rented maiden ship
we met few
prospective survivors.
We were ever-so-festive:
ours were
gabardine lives
of severest blue.
The grey mon dieu of pennants.
x
Even as we speak
apricot trees are dropping
large nested pheasants.
xi
Everything
is in season. Every
summer we walk
this on out
over and over.
When the intervening world
hands out tablecloths
would we want
stripes? Would we
want the mermaid?
xii
We counted
the hourglasses. And the mermaid.
And the sandstorm.
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