Monday Poem

Speed and Trouble

Sunday
……………… —my head spins
suddenly it’s Saturday again

wind whistles through hours
days are bullet trains

yet in this garden
long as the space of a light year
crows drop in to listen for the bristle
of worms making way below
through a sea dark as biker leathers
black as predator feathers

I love these crows
……………………… —being so
we-are-masters-of-this-row

they strut with natural equanimity
unlike cocksure CEOs who strut
but with a limp of sociopathy

meanwhile, two blood red cardinals
perch upon a limb outside our room
much nearer god then those of
the red-habit class

our fat cat’s
laser gaze nails them, though she looms
impotent behind the slider glass

—in this leisure garden bubble
these crows and I know zip
of speed and trouble
.

by Jim Culleny
6/14/12

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