why we don’t make more beautiful things

the hum/buzz comes first,
then the sighting:
blur of hummingbird zooming through
lush greenscape of spring in northeast missouri

the flutter of fabric strips
(old sheets in mostly white and pastels)
in the morning wind as darien and i work together to
lay them out in groups of six,
then bundle them,
then nail them to the top of the maypole
and then unbundle and stake them each into the ground
approximately 3 or 4 feet apart
the sight of which, once fully assembled, always makes me think/wonder why
we don’t make more beautiful things 
just for the sake of things beaing beautiful here
trish suggesting the red wig
(run lola run color, and long, all the way down my back)
as we discuss the day’s costumery
for the near-approaching land day/may day 
which marks sandhill’s 43rd year
and the red wig changes everything
the ding! of my typewriter bell in the sideyard
as i pound out poems to go
for mostly kids but also an adult
(on magic,
on unicorns,
on dogs,
on balance)

cynthia’s whistle sounding off in the whitehouse yard
at the field games which include but are not limited to:
the crab walk, the 3 legged race, sack race, tug of war, wheelbarrow race
too many kids wielding too many coal-red singe-ended sticks around the bonfire
stokes my instinct to leave
though i resist and just step further back
from the hazard


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