Sunday, April 29, 2018

That time of day, sitting in a chair

There's still time, but let's avoid
the lawn and the idea of all lawns
in time and space. Another
poet writing about her lawn, but
what does it mean to throw in
the towel and what is gained
by holding onto anything? No coach,
and the lawn is a lawn, not a boxing ring.
At work on Saturday, hanging an institutional
banner with zip ties that break.
In any lull, imagine a weekend:
A nice hotel with a tub,
imagine taking muscle relaxers,
not splitting the pills in half.
We've redacted pronouns, but
your family is still here. Not
at the hotel, but here. On the
lawn, maybe. Or gardening.

No comments: