Unusual Weather
New road,
same yellow brick.
NBC reboots
the Wiz, and I’m obligated
to don my
silver sneakers for the journey,
true to the
page, the metal sparkle
still
surprising ruby lovers, to my delight.
In another
country, they sweep up glass,
sprinkle
absorbent over ruby puddles.
In my
country, the local sheriff reminds
would-be
vigilantes of their wildest dreams,
of the
reason they got pistol permits
in the first
place.
Red Ryder
notwithstanding,
they’re
probably better shots than many on the force,
because
hobby equals passion,
because
their targets are innocent paper outlines,
colorless,
sexless.
They aim to
please.
The weather
is unusually mild, and my
winter coat
lingers a month in the back seat
of my car,
too heavy for this Christmas bloom.
Poinsettias
have no trouble thriving,
their red
leaves directing our attention
to grey
skies, second day patches of pollen.
Piles of
gifts explode on our dining table
where we
rarely eat, even when it’s empty.
New Santa
hat, red with ivory trim,
lays at the
ready, waiting for stars
to
crystallize, for snow
to move the
year along.
CAR 12/17/15
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