As women
flutter about like bats
and pollinate
every table
with
goldenrods, one begins
to
acknowledge the sheer “O” one
feels from
being alone in a field.
This adds to
the clouds over
head because
they are apart
of so many
wider “Os”
A girl
rolling her ankle under
a toboggan.
The dog lapping
up the banana
pudding.
Coition
brings a chain of them.
While a
roller coaster one long
“Whoa.” And,
oh yes, the “oh” of forgetfulness.
In a few hours
you see this O another way.
A man wants
to finish undressing you.
“There are so
many fucking robins,” you try to say
but slip and
“robbers” fit.
A heaping of
salamanders break for the pond.
But suddenly,
a smile breaks across a child’s
face, handing
you his finished dinner plate.
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