Shells of spent July 4th fireworks on grass lie about
Cicadas make raspy chitter chirps from places of hiding
A weak tea orange sky percolates above my forehead's horizon
As I get out of my Bubba Big Butt Redneck Dually Dodge truck
NPR shining night star Teri Gross let a guest preacher testify
Preach to a radio pew where I was just sitting, service now let out
He taunted devils yet to strike us later tonight in the wee hours
We best watch out for their attack of the lonely 3am blues
By ringing heaps of praise on vintage 1975 Toni Bennet & Bill Evans CDs
The pulpit's guest slings his shot at the coming dark hordes
My own choir gathers, cicadas tsinging jazz scat like a soft brush on cymbals
Summer night wakes up and chains links a memory fence, stirs tangerine tea into ink
I walk my new dog and watch him chew his newfound drum stick
While I chew the fat with some of the alley cats, soul passers by
A tired father pumps up the tire on a fat tired green Schwinn bike
As my shrill shill cicada chorus pumps up their volume to the max
Without so much as a nod from me nor any gesture or tricks
Not a turn of any dial, like me it all just happens, like I happen
The father, he asks how I am as his son's bike takes off, my reply must be brief
"Cicada choirs, and tangerine tea with mint are what we lived for 20 years from now"
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1 comment:
Jim, this is so visual and visceral. Cicadas' rasp is always hot summer background music to me.
radio pew, service now let out: beautiful
lonely 3 am blues: I can relate to
tangerine tea into ink: I can see
alley cats soul passers by: I feel the life
. . . it all just happens: life finds a way with or without us
what we lived for 20 years from now: it's the little things in life we cherish
This poem so perfectly captures a moment of NOW, the beauty and impermanence and acceptance of everyday life.
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