on other roofs

how the forecast says rain and storm but the sky seems to say
it’s holding off for now
and so i tie on the sister-hand-me-down running shoes (magenta and some yellow)
and make my way through the thick air
down the back road and back
where i still can’t bear to see
what the county did to the trees that line the road side
(a brutal topping
trunks splintered at their tops,
no clean cuts for as far as the eye can see just
raw shred after raw splintertering after parts of limbs and trunks and branches so raw they look like they hurt
and the feeling i get in my body when i see them/think about them
is the same feeling i get when i hear about another ice raid, an enormous oil spill, the slashing of the EPA, etc – 
a kindof powerlessness, i guess, manifesting itself in my skin/cells/bones)
_______
two foil-wrapped snickers squares
their gleam
on the  karma living room table
where trish and i
crunch numbers
_______
there is a certain sound
particular to rain on
courrgated metal roofs
which is different than the sound of rain
on other kinds of roofs
_______

the loud grind/spin of blade
moving through board
me at one end of the table saw
cynthia at the other
_______
birdie the cat of many colors/patterns
(white, grey, black, orange)
meowing wildly at dinnertime
in her seeking of human touch/care/attention
who refuses to get down from my shoulders (or leave my arms)
when i declare our cuddle session done
_______

cynthia eyeballing the #2 planer as she adjusts the blade and how she sees something
i can’t ever see
(meaning: this is why she’s the builder/woodworker and i’m the apprentice)
the planer and i i say are not friends
about the tool whose blade always
seems to be repositioning itself and becuase i don’t have the eye
or the knack that cynthia has, i can never quite get it set right which means
the stack of boards that will soon be a desk that i thought i could tend to on my own
i must abandon
until further collaboration is possible

_______

from the water world:

Kayakers paddle on the flooded Logan River, caused by Cyclone Debbie, as it flows over the Mt. Lindesay Highway in Waterford West near Brisbane, Australia. – voice of America, day in photos

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Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

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