.
Assembling shade
from shards and large pieces,
a creaking canopy
o’er my daily bread.
Cedar trees line
the old crippled creek gulch,
looming like vultures–
waiting on the dead.
Why re-grease the wheels of
a well oiled machine?
Why try
reinventing the wheel?
Let nature take her course
like rivers slicing through stone.
Why can’t we enjoy
all the feelings we feel?
Like sunshine on skin,
a warm day with rain.
A new plank of wood
with knots in the grain.
The smell of old pencils
or a new Crayola crayon,
musty old books
I still enjoy as a man.
An ice cream truck
that runs down
the street,
while chocolate and chlorine
drip to my feet.
Or a bucket full of minnows,
mirrored silver skin.
One toad burrows into the mud
while another toad is jumping in.
Like running through a field of bumbling bees,
I’m living my life on a dare.
I’ll be home when I’m ready to rock,
I’m just not ready for that rocking chair.
.
