a poem

Image for post
Image for post

the robins speak to me

in soft little voices

imperceptible to anyone

not tuned to their song

they speak of love

and sex

and the impermanence of life

the chipmunks scurry past

giggling at all this profundity

while the gray squirrel bellows out

profanities

and slings cuss words my way

it’s may, and all the denizens of

the island

are laughing, fucking

and frolicking

as I stroll along

my merry way

Written by

father, motorcyclist, old retired guy who’s just a little lost on a blue marble corkscrewing its way to oblivion

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