we discuss the sometimes

magazine rack i tack
onto the list of
spring cleanup to-dos
on the butcher block

emory with a hammer
in one hand and a bug net
in the other
barefooted running shirtless
palms caked with deep dark earthy soil
from sifting compost through screen
into galvanized tub
trish offers a glove


ninjas don’t even know what
utensils are nina, em and cole chorus
at the lunch picnic table defending the use
of their fingers to transport food to mouth
each of us bare-armed in spring-thaw sun
mica and i upper-cutting and
burpee-ing and side-kicking
to jillian out in the muddied orchard
our shadows a more reasonable version
of a gym mirror

chorus of frankie-enthusiasts
calling out my name from
the other side of the screen
on mercantile porch
a saunter is the only thing you can do
whilst (trish) wearing a sequinned kerchief
and peacock feather leggings
in celebration of sun and the milding

laughing in the kitchen post-potluck
about ceiling mirrors and
how, according to gina, it’s 2015
and anal’s on the menu

never felt a missing like this
i say under a sky
whose stars appear spilled
like a tumble of diamonds
tossed out of a yahtzee shaker


i’m feeling bipolar she says
tears and hunger at bay
and i incredulous at such
lack of chimichurri excitement
we discuss the sometimes
uneven work of showing up
laptop-left cookie gift
from sandhill’s #1 popcorn enthusiast


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