thru the screendoor

the calendar is a matter of columns,
convention. like auction, or coniption. they sell
themselves as stable, tho paltry, with
nametags boasting of dead latin kings, procession& pomp.
raked leaves, wilted gourd....where's the bridge?

we ain't sure weathesnot she gunna have her a fit, and about now,
to convince you she's ok, she rocks in her chair,
fingering mildly crisp okra in a wooden bowl.
oprah fades to vanna white as we zoom into the smile of a ceramic dog.

the tower of pisa has horizontal difficulties& marlin perkins is seen
sniping the hose of costeau fathoming coral depths of ratings.
the apronfilled lady with cauliflower hair
leans from behind the macrame potholders and blocks our conception
thru the screen door. peaches preserved on a shelf in the
stairs under the bed tucked with autumn lettuce
and starling migrations over sapphire sky.

curlers in the transparent woman's cranium twist her spideregg strands
into crescent moon wrenchlight. the femur in her honeybun
is a staff of frenchbread composed of farm sounds.
check the trotline with waders on in a dark summer night to
find a turtle on the last hook after a dozen gnawed
fish heads. wait fer the bus to school and fer the school to teach.
the green wine in the pink bottle
is cheap but the moment's a buckthirty a gallon under the
mimosa tree with the hand of public enemy #1
undoing yer blouse. you'd choose the his and hers stationary bikes
over the plaster damnation, i mean salvation
is a column of fresh garden veggies extending their ladders
waterward. with the snap of a greenbean, pisa
falls on perkins, and the shadow of merv griffin beats the
air with its wings. attorneys flutter about the knob
and the farm marm minds the growth of channel zero


after William Carlos Williams
lawrence kansas, near burroughs farm 1989