Cecil Vortex

They went driving in the rain.
They watched it fall down
on jelly-eyed twenty-eight-years-olds in gold paisley coats,
side-burned thirty-seven-year-olds in suspect camping gear,
fit fifty-year-olds wearing thick, graying furs plucked from cardboard boxes.
Early on, almost at the very … Read on Macduff...

They’re building a flock of geese
out by the base.
For six months now
they’ve been working on it,
piece by piece
sun, wind, rain.
First came the bones.
Then the organs, the muscles.
Fat and flesh.
Last week they … Read on Macduff...

I remember frogs --
feeding them, caring for them
pressing that spot on
the base of their spines...

Small frogs, caught by the creek
cupped for a moment, captive, fluttering
released
open-hand.

Huge store-bought bullfrogs
kept in shaded back-of-garage aquariums.

Put it in a box and bury it
by the side of the house
with a few friends, a eulogy.
Soft voices and a
turning embrace.
Gone, like our grandmothers
and grandfathers. And not
coming back.
No matter how young … Read on Macduff...

Saying the word “doodle” out loud —
“Doodle.”
“Doodle.” —
makes me feel
three months more young, light, and lean
three months less gassy and gray.
Noodle
Poodle.
Streudel.
“Doodle.”