a green archipeligo
spices the radar pizza
light rain and showers
a mutant green ameoba
slouches toward the radar coast
heavy rain all day
green meadows with orange flowers
radar the sea and mountains
soaking pounding rain
Last winter I cut the blackberries back,
a tsunami of thorny stems curling
far above the irises and daisies,
each one now reduced to a spike bouquet
and moved back to the chickenwire fence.
The irises are glad to see them go.
Each clump of leaves has spindle buds unfolding
mauve and violet triradiate saddles,
and hidden here, a hybrid surprise,
a wild iris, deep purple patterned with lace.
a mosquito humming
beside my ear.
Most of what I could write
about my friend who died last week
would be echoes of others’ praise.
He was my next door neighbor.
I was a only a small part
of his suddenly ended life.
Two heart attacks in a row,
a dubious medical choice,
and the umpire called him “Out!”
At the memorial I learned
more about who he was
than I ever knew in life.
Family pictures laid out
on a science project board.
People told choice anecdotes.
That’s three land partners gone.
The OM circle is diminished.
They all should still be alive.
some of what you say
might be counting down
what in me you like
a simple moment
you want to kiss me
softness of your lips
I’m almost afraid
to say anything
we have so much past
in this novel space
feel the depth of love
cry a single tear
I thought it would be different this time,
an old love renewed for another season
with new writers and a better plot.
By the time I wrote the next poem,
I already knew better.
Ultraviolet bodies undulate,
slowly peeling off flourescent bikinis.
I’m watching with my artist’s eye tonight,
memorizing both the curved and mundane
parts of every girl spinning on the pole
or cozing up to young guys in their seats.
I’m not quite being totally ignored.
The music is awful beyond belief.
But then with a squeal, Priscilla says, “It’s you!
I want to dance for you!” and smiles at me,
scratching my back that special way she does.
She’s a petite girl with long curly hair
who likes to play with my similar curls.
She leads me by the arm to the cashier,
and then into a curtained enclosure
with a velvet couch and a stereo.
She lets my eyes adjust to dimmer light,
puts on some jazz, takes off her bikini.
What follows is eight minutes of heaven.
I slow down time to savor each detail
of the soft young girl cuddling against me
with so much joyful enthusiasm.
“Do you want me to do another dance?”
“I’m sorry but that’s all I can afford.”
a buck saw my car
and panicked under a fence
sharp shiny antlers
zigzag line of quail
four parents and many chicks
ran from road to grass
copyright © 2011 Carl Miller