Worksite Poem

A few folks have requested more poems from my prehistory -- I came across this one looking for some scrap paper, figured it was a sign.

For a while, I was working on a series of poems all written during breaks at work. Most were written sitting in the work van. This is one.

Enjoy.

Worksite -- Boring, Oregon


If finned animals were swimming
down this hot asphalt street,

and if the parrot squawking inside the house there
was a tiny woman in a napolean coat
vexing an absent husband,

then I'd know this was a dream.

As it is --
wind curling around my ankles,
tarpaper softening in the sun,

I'm temporarily convinced otherwise.




Bp