Lolling, rolling, yellow brown bumblebees, humid hot, itty-bitty birds twittering within green leaves, the big black cat sat on the white porch, his eyes half-closed. Each time he heard the bees buzz, feline flipping the bird [thumping his tail], splintered wood. Feathered chit-chat, corpulent cat responds, opening his eyes, BUT — the thick air was like a blanket. The black cat closed his eyes once more.
Contemplating Scrapple, careful to ignore the contents (A too well considered “cruise” can spoil the courtship!), contemplating Scrapple I see my Father’s countenance, calm, as he cuts the Scrapple NARROW; using the cast iron skillet to fry-up breakfast: Eggs, Scrapple, with a side order of Toast. He looks happy in that kitchen cubicle. Contemplating Scrapple, I smile because I see my Father.
The white moth
Tries to crawl
Out of the porcelain bowl.
Meanwhile, the world goes on.
Mornings are like
Holding one’s breath.
The chirp of a bird
Hoping on the windowsill…
The smell of almost rain,
Before or after…
SQUAWK, chirp, an explosion of sound,
cascade of blue feathers, Fountain,
three Blue Jays flew UP, and “ran away“,
left the premises, Got out of Dodge.
Hissing — the remaining — slight gray Mockingbird
flew to the top of the of the lamp post.
His long tail feathers were twitching,
[waving his flag]
Cumulus [Cyclops} Black Crow
standing at the side of the gray asphalt
in the narrow sand-colored
pecking, cawing, then walking
up the street…
with his long talons, it’s more of a
grand strut than a walk.