When the blueberries first ripen
I always draw back to my family’s
vacation.
Remember the cesspool behind the
motel.
Spent the nights playing gin with
the grownups.
Days frogging in the scum.
In the wrong place for so long I
moved.
Then grew a garden at my new
address.
And the beans were greener than
any other.
And the hummers on the borage
wore a redder scarf.
A year ago we scaled Cambieau.
Ever since, everything has been
so real;
Words following suit,
One leg at a time.
Still, the jails are overflowing.
Aristocrats cut their teeth on
paté.
