In matters of parenting
we have to admit
some things beyond
our control and our wit:
whether two or two hundred,
one will get loose,
another will always
be the caboose.
If you know me, dear reader, you know I do not love these geese.
However, I have to grant they are occasionally hilarious.
PART ONE
I think they look huffy,
a bit high and mighty,
as though family life
is always this tidy.
I think it’s a ruse,
this complacent look,
a portrait for gloating
on their family Facebook.
Such serene air
is hardly the way
most parents spend
a usual day.
So here’s to reality,
mess by the ton:
a whole lot of work,
a whole lot of fun!
A happy day to all who mother!
(And, yes, some days the work:fun ratio is not stellar.)
Two mallards in the pond
are not a sign of bliss
one has staked a claim
the other says it’s his
they cut each other off
in cut-throat promenade
unmindful of how handsome
their St. Patrick’s Day parade.
Happy St. Patrick’s Day, dear reader!
May your emerald top hat shine as bright!
Somewhere in this barrenness
a quickening song is sung
I look hard but cannot tell
where it’s coming from
I cannot see a bird
so could it be the tree
trilling spring’s first music
coloraturally?
With a-one and a-two
it’s the goose soft shoe
a shuffle and a step
ponderous schlep
slip and slide
to far pondside
with list to lee
graceful like me
I frown and sigh
why don’t they just fly?
The deep deep woods
is guarded by
a small small troll
two inches high;
he’ll challenge you
with round round eye
in little hole —
a sly sly spy.
If you would walk
his white white earth,
you pay his toll,
the tax on worth,
not in penny-ante cents
but still still pause
of reverence.
With many thanks to photographer Mary Jo Bassett.
And also thanks to Johnny Gruelle,
who introduced me to the deep deep woods in his Raggedy Ann stories ever so long ago.
Hey, cold robin!
It’s winter! Did you know?
You think “early bird” means
worming in the snow?
I get that winter’s
the first sign of spring
but you’re pushing
that red-breasted harbinger thing.
