from this distance

morning south america quiz
on the small map where, perfectly, the shapes
of countries are distinct and the names
printed on them are illegible
from this distance i work my way
up from the south starting
with chile

emory offering a pastry from the box
(baklava and other filo dough and sweet and nut combos)
that joseph brought back form chicago
on his jaunt near union station

cluster of ladybugs (at least 25) huddled
on a panel of an empty flat that i pull
out from under greenhouse shelf to fill
with fresh-pressed soil blocks

frankie flower-grower and sissy cynthia we laugh
at lunch about the herb gardener vs. the flower farmer
reality tv show

sound of plastic sheet lifting/falling in the wind
while i work the soilblock mix
like bread dough in the greenhouse

the dangle of roots as i
unearth the tomato starts (amish paste) from
their densely packed rows before lowering
them into the little fingertip-widened pits
in rows of compost-sand-coir blocks

tossing the ridiculous poncho
(huge pink flower design with bright green and yellow too)
on over my hoodie for a pre-dinner jaunt through the
cold front to take in the moody/complex
cold-hits-warm, gray-on-white parting
to spill out some blue sky

hot shot stan says about the surgeon
who i jokingly call toblerone and whose car name
we don’t know how to pronounce

it’s the new personality typing trish jokes
at the kitchen table about which tattoo
you’d get near/around your asshole

tulsi rose tea steeping
in bullet-shaped thermos,
one small serving poured into
lia-made cup (powdery-tealish glaze)
which she sent from encinitas for
my 39th birthday


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