Whistling sounded like a wail,

down the dale, a devout hymn.

When the wind was in the trees …

but the freeze has taken them.

Can a longing be undone?

Such a one as you would know.

Unrequited love is hard.

You imparted naught but woe.

So, my Dream, shall I construe,

dare unloose my full intent?

Nay, my passion hast full flown.

Thus, I moan. My clothing, rent.

You, forever loathe to share,

you ensnare the smallest look.

Exclude me, just like the cold,

when it froze over our brook.

Out on the land in a time now long gone

animals spoke not with talons, but tongues;

civil in nature and patient to boot,

reached their apogee, having taken root.

Trickier mammals would baffle them all.

They weren't immune to answering the call:

pranking and stealing, malevolent stuff.

Yowling and prowling and giving a cuff.

The raccoon sported a mask on her face,

Shielding identity, a saving grace.

Ever self-righteous as she claimed no part

of recking sheer havoc. She played it smart.

She just didn't see how clear her deeds were.

No one was fooled by her mood lackluster.

The fish that she took and the food she stole:

blood on her hands, not metaphorical.

Fie! From that time, the old habits die hard.

You see her slink still, all about the yard,

with hands, so dainty, so blood-stained and streaked.

That's WHY she washes her food in the creek!

“Look, young cousin,

at my special dozen!

All sweet dollies …

Hey, GIVE me red ball! … Please?!”

“(Don’t tell Big Ma’am

I say she a Hot Damn.

Old Man say first.

He the very worsterst.)”

“We bright parrots.”

“Where my orange carrots?”

“We fine misses

give you sloppy kisses.”

“Bye, young lady.

You stayed TOO latey.”

Vague but haunting Vision plagues me.

Rises fore me, as It deems,

Dominates, monopolizing

All of me, hellbent, It seems.

To cede vulnerability,

Low accord I now partake.

For none can know the consequence

Were an error I to make.

Something horror-struck is out there

Just beyond the ken of sight.

I fear It will overtake me,

Wrapped in tentacles too tight.

Here are plants I like to find.

as I search rooms in my mind.

Snapdragon, Rooster Comb, Daylily,

Pansy, Nasturtium, Peony,

Blackeyed Susie and Sunflower,

Morning Glory will embower.

Violet and Chrysanthemum,

Mayapple and Trillium.

Begonia and Hollyhock;

Bluebells line my garden walk.

Daffodil, dank Marigold,

Zinnia and shrubby Rose.

Iris, funny Touch-Me-Nots,

Spider Lily, Herbs in pots.

Tulip, Phlox, and Clover red

round out beds within my head.

All these sights were planted there

by ‘my gardeners’, kept with care.

I was wee e’er I espied

blooming, colored plants’ high tide.

Fresh catch? Diamond back.

Check out our new lineup of spring flavors when you score your share.

_______________________________________________________

As I struggle to stride determinedly, my older, wiser friend keeps up this patter. “I hear the snakes were so rife last week, they’d pitch them into a mound of dead meat. Ball up the bills in your sweaty, little palm. Strike while the iron’s hot!

“And don’t dare make the error Willie’s cousin did last year. As he turned tail upon approaching The Dugout Grille, looking all green around the gills. He’s still in a slump to this very day, you know? Don’t you balk!” The smell of mesquite smoke is by now unmistakable in our nostrils.

As the cooks windup the day, up I walk to their window. “I’ll take a plate of fresh habanera-batter snake.

Underneath the crust

a quintessential presence

lies in wait, unseen.

Daffodil, jonquil.

A bulb by any other …

would smell as sweet. Yes?

Iris, your thin skin

sags gently and anon to

too-sweet vestiges.

Lily, for how long

have protein sources, tubers,

sustained our races?

Sepal, petal, style,

stamens, and yes, ovaries.

Bulbs bloom, flourishing.

The taste was slightly salty when I kissed the dampened neck.

I smiled at tangy sweatiness and murmured, “What the heck?”

The smell was dimly murky as I smelt the pheromone.

Our exercise had woken just a hint of musky tone.

The rhythmic sound of rustling as our clothing moved around.

I heard a heavy thump as something heavy hit the ground.

Despite the chill I felt, my hands were ruby red, aglow.

We’d come so far, my tight held grip relaxed as I let go.

Relieved, I saw the bed with tailgate open. We’d laid down

our heavy, brown old cabinet to cart it into town.

I came and saw but looked away,

so present were the ghosts today.

Though eloquent the words they spoke,

their fetid breath near made me choke.

Deep echoes from the years bygone

have not left off, drone on and on.

So vivid, delicate the lace,

beneath your almost living face.

Our shivaree has never muted,

love intact has scarce transmuted.

Lunched we on this lawn that day

before you left, to my dismay.

Why must contagion make its call

like clockwork sounding in the hall?

Unnerving tolling; oh, the knell

announces death, that grisly bell.

My love was torn, then laid to rest.

My cries in vain paled. Yet I jest

and mock the mockingbird that sings

though never pleasure to me brings.

The Spanish moss, so smoky there

seems choking, sucking without care.

But no, it’s grace-full, a bland scene,

devoid of diabolic scheme.

As heedless, wholly unintended,

virus fully had amended

plans we laid and since repealed;

bastard microbe now revealed.

Excuse me, to the side I list,

quite apathetic to all this.

It’s just, I’ve seen this play before.

Forgive me, ere I close the door

again.

Machiavellian

Actions

Really

Can

Happen.

and, of course

Every

Queer

Unrobes,

In

Nuovo,

Outed

Xenophobes.