You would like me better were it not
for all those other poets. I would venture
dog on the lawn, feet first
and you would say, yes. Then,
a line about how clouds are like
tea leaves. You would squirm
in your chair and I would follow
with two stories: my life in an orchard
of chestnuts, the other comparing the bones
of foreigners to the bars on our flag. You would
now be reading faster in spite of
yourself and I would take the reins and tug
as you stopped short at a stanza featuring
a man you always thought the world
of and a hollow in the forest. See, how easy
this is for both of us: Siamese twins
and a tangle of tomato plants. The moon
balanced neatly on the finger of a water
spout. When you were young
you loved a Springer Spaniel. I admit
an affinity for remembrance and loss.
When you're older, you'll understand. Meanwhile,
I heard a girl today who sounded like Scout Finch.
She was wrestling a watermelon down Aisle 5.
That's all I've got, but I'm counting on
you coming back. I like fidelity in a reader.
I have a deep appreciation for frankness. I saw
your sister at the rally, she sends her fondest regards.