Outside You Hear Squealing, Stamping
mary winters
The muddy ruckus of a pig shed:
imagine the stabbing hooves
...let ‘em loose in a garden
they’d aerate the soil.
(More fun than renting a backhoe.)
It’s always jazzier:
lots of the same thing in one place.
Even if it’s paper lanterns
on a patio in the Midwest.
At least someone’s trying.
The muddy ruckus of a pig shed:
it’s never too late to stampede?
One last rush of creativity,
like Monet.
They don’t care if they’re
putting on a show.
More just enjoying themselves
like kids inside on a rainy day.
Outside you hear squealing, stamping.
Could be a square dance
as well as a riot.
Could be a brawl
for the sheer release of it.
All the tension of fall.
Bacon. Blood pudding
...what kind of sadist
dreamed up a dish like that?
At the Boathouse
Cheshire cat in a tree.
Alice in Wonderland:
I never got over the cartoon.
The feline fading from sight,
Its smile hanging alone.
The Queen of Hearts
who looked like my mom.
Scolding me for a high school tryst.
Trespassing at the boathouse
ten feet in the air from a drought.
He brought me french fries.
Driving without a license.
No wind, the grass blowing.
Something sticking from a bush.
I knew from a test I cheated on:
one of the larger human bones.
The water rising ... “Drink me!”
Where the current ran,
a white rabbit.
Caterpillar with a hookah.
It was the sixties.
