Here Comes the Sun

Its scars become translucent, the year finally summers,
strolling towards the park with Pimm's in hand, the park
where every child's in crutches or training wheels.

Its training wheels off, the year lunges finally into summer,
football riots, Big Brother, and predictable, devastating headlines,
while every crutched child re-bandages scratch or scar.

Its weight on its crutches, the year hobbles into summer, finally,
dazed and warm and scarred as a family picnic's postprandial hour,
where the roundabout is every child's training wheel,

a headlong ride into vertigo, the nauseous return.


Occasional Poem

I am waking into the occasion and will do so again before noon.
The faint brushing noise is the air conditioning and the sea at a distance,
and within, the library's low decibels rise and fall: the crack of knuckles,
a chuckle over Calvino, an erotic sigh between the stacks.
...