Midwestern spring

A spring breeze rustles the trees
whispers across my neck
and disappears in the heat of summer

Freshness Spout

Our garden fountain
turns birdie bidet
whenever a robin comes to visit.
Dipping and bobbing,
ruffling his feathers,
he settles his bottom atop the water spout
and wiggle-waggles to his heart’s content

Affordable housing

Birds rent their houses from us
for the season
sweetest lease you’ll ever find
both bed and board included
for the price of a song
a flash of color
and the mere possibility
we might one day see
tiny beaks
open
to receive a meal

Not Yet July

And already the fireworks begin
We just can’t wait to celebrate
the birth of a nation
or perhaps just our ability
to blow things up in our own
back yards, back alleys, back pastures
so much safer than armaments
we forget the wars we commemorate

Midwestern Summer

Steam doesn’t rise from surfaces
so much as permeate the air
and wrap itself around our listlessness