I do not know what exactly
defines a ‘hobby’ – things
hardly ever spark any detectable sliver of joy
in me
my elders always
warned me
not to climb
trees at twilight
I envy cigarette smokers.
They take more fresh air breaks than anyone,
a drop embedded
in the half-opened bud—
winter morning
My dad always spoke to our mailmen
Regardless of where we moved,
Or the time of their route.
How different the sound and pressure feel
Crushing coffee beans, ice cubes and millipedes beneath a rubber soul.
Ciao, Pardner
Montana royalty
That cattle call in your heart
herds you home
Through the muck of indefinite pandemic
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Sometimes I kiss my hands
under my covers late at night,
pretend I’m kissing you. But
they don’t kiss back, of course,