He filled his van up with Hoovers,
brushes, cleaning fluid, mops
and other sorts of things. Whisky
was painted on the back of his throat,
and his phlegm was curried
with it when he spat. He slammed
the door and walked around, money
rattled with keys. His polished hair,
black as his heart, glowed,
as if something slithered through it.
I never liked seeing him or having
to say ‘Hello’. He was a difficult man,
opinions, wind-like, and a stare that made
you think you shouldn’t even be alive,
never mind looking at him.

While the morning dozes in handily
The sun paints inciting vegetation
Bit of greenly sward, applauds, snappishly
Moving, moping, in startled asp’ration
Lying in torment, unpretentiously

Wide-eyed land, romps energetically
Iridescent sunrise, floating flightless
Forenoon savors in sparkl’ng veracity
While the world spins in absolute hushness
And rattling in sweet regularity

Gloating tenderly, in edgy touchness
Warming the earth, raindrops, tumble from sky
And cockcrow holds its head high, in closeness
Feathered creatures in day peep, unify
Untamed wild, fills local space, once afresh

I linger less now, but pause quite often
I know I have been here before
Time has taught me that much at least

Things play out again, the outcome the same
I’m watching the first snow and know
What’s next – the driveway, the walkway

I once could play in it, would get my sled
and head to the neighbor’s hill to slide
to glide the day that way, years and years ago.