Another Failed Dragonfly Poem

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I used to go down to the pond at the end of our street to write poems about dragonflies the way Monet would go down to his garden at Giverny to paint water lilies.

 

The only difference was that dragonflies didn’t stay still like waterlilies did. They dashed and darted about the pond at 100 ks an hour. Even when they had sex they had it on the wing coupling like planes fueling mid- flight. You had to admire them though they were devilish to tie down.

 

I almost got one once when a dragonfly dawdled on the front doorknob one drowsy afternoon, after summer rains, then saw me and took off, its gossamer wings flashing rainbows.

 

Poem with a Great Last Line

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I have just written a poem.

I read it to my granddaughter.

“Hey! Great last line,” she says.

“But what about the rest of the poem?” I say.

“Great last line”

I go back to the poem.

Read it a few times.

It is a great last line.

So what I do is this: I jettison the rest of the poem and keep

the last line,

I read it a few times.

I read it to her.

She hesitates.

I read it again.

It seems to lack something,” she says.

So I put the poem back together like it was and read it to her.

“Great last line,” she says.

Single White Rolls

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You got to feel sorry for single white rolls.

Even in packs they can’t make a go of it.

Maybe they should take a good hard look

at themselves

consult relationship experts like couples

on Married …

or search for roll-mates on Tinder.

There must be someone out there.

If ‘Baked Fresh’ doesn’t confer any advantages

I don’t know what does.

Even when consumed they die alone.

It must be a lonely existence.

What’s Feet Got to do with it?

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Get yr feet off the table I was told.

Get yr feet off the pouf.

And I thought, what the ^%$#@ ?!?!

What does it even matter if I dangle my feet

from the chandeliers?

What’s feet got to do with it anyway?

But somehow they alwats march in.

I often start off on the wrong foot these days

Step on people’s dignity

Tread on their toes

Or worse put my foot in my mouth

A mean anatomical feat if ever there were one.

So now I keep my feet firmly on the ground

Close to each other

And far enough from my mouth as possible.

This seems to keep people happy.

 

Sparrow in the Library

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I saw a sparrow hop across the carpet

in the library

toward the Express Collection Shelf.

I flicked my head

like an illusionist’s cape

& it was gone.

I went back to the article about Stevie Van Zandt

& his Summer of Sorcery Tour

& the sparrow

appeared again.

With another flick of my head

it reassembled

into a series of tan dots — & dashes.

Time to head off

to the optometrist again.

Miracles

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It’s not the big ones

like walking on water

that interest me

But the little ones

like walking freely,

doing gym again

without medication,

being able to hear

stereophonically

without ear surgery,

able to love again

without the king’s men

struggling

to put me together;

the body’s palliative care unit

working in unison.