califlower

he listens like a cauliflower
to the prattle i put out

about -

how the wood he sands is like people -
richer grains underneath;

how the grass he waters breathes at night -
each blade a dependent child;

how the rabbits we shoo are more clever -
for they multiply sans math.

he does not validate such chatter,
only grunts in boxed assumptions.

how sad to know the day shall come
when all my words are spent.

mouth pointed like a carrot!

it will pain him when he can’t recall
what i really meant.
 

Written April 4, 2004