The manuscript is coming together, painstakingly but such is the nature of editing, revising. Not much time for other projects but I’m still hoping to record an audiobook edition of my novel. So, a poem, from the forthcoming collection, to be re-named.

MY WEEK

Fed a germ.
Dog tottered.
Spooned flies out of yogurt.
Dislodged ants from the toaster.
Entered words.
Fought for blackberries
And free stuff.

Doctored bites.
Signed language.
Collected greens,
(Heirloom tomatoes.)
Parlanced a meme.
Registered my feelings.

The last house on HUSBAND RD
Has prolific bamboo décor.
You can sit in a resin chair there,
The white ones especially war-strong.
It’s too late in the week
To do anything nice

Or nicely.
Too late in our lifespans
For anything,
Though he’s still trying
To Xerox his ass,
Moon earth.