SPRING (A Commentary on Genesis 3:25)

This time of year we swarm
the nursery just outside of town.
Tomato plants of course,
something for the table.
But marigolds, petunias, zinnias?
A little color in July
and they’re history come fall.

Seventeen ninety eight she says.
I hand her two tens
and carry a tray of green
absurdities to the car.

Cherubim with flaming swords
be damned.
I’m going back to that garden.

WEEDS

I was introduced to them by my father
who learned about them from his
and so on back to
Adam
who messed up big time
with forbidden fruit
and made things even worse
by trying to pass the buck
(which did not endear him
to the woman
but that’s another story).

What came of it was earth cursed:
"thorns and thistles
it shall bring forth to thee."

Which is why, if no one is looking,
I lean down and pluck the chickweed
from the pathetic strip of marigolds
along the crannied wall at
Burger King.

SORRY!

It sits on the board game shelf
in the family room,
unplayed, abandoned,
a game for kids
probably created
and surely named
by a grown-up
with a penchant for irony
or simply sarcasm.

There is, of course, another
possibility.
God knows there is enough regret
in all of us to bring us to our knees,
and every time my game piece
lands next to yours
to send you back
I relive the guilt
of past perfidies.

It’s a game for unconfessed penitents
and sadomasochists.

And kids.

MISSING

Yesterday our next-door neighbor
called and asked
if we had seen their cats,
two orange tabbies
missing since Sunday.
Funny thing is
she said
they don’t like each other
so they always go
their separate ways
and now they’ve both gone
missing.

They would take turns
camped beneath our bird feeder
patiently waiting
for a feathered feast
to drop to the ground.

I hope they turn up soon.
I -- but probably not the birds --
miss them.

ROLE MODEL

Mid morning is when
the artful thieves appear
at the bird feeder,
their surreptitious arrival
by way of the big oak,
gray radar tails aloft,
eyes always on the prize
that dangles from the lowest branch.

Meanwhile inside the house
where I stand watching,
our yellow mostly Lab
stands watching me.
She knows what I will do
and quivers, trembles, whimpers:
"Oh, I'm ready.
No dog has ever been readier.
Open that door, please, please.
I'll catch ‘em, chomp ‘em, crunch ‘em.
I will, I will."

I obey
and watch her fly out
to another failure.
She returns
astounded but unfazed,
"Next time for sure."

She is my daily inspiration.