Weather

Always something to keep us up nights.
Credit card gets maxed, the Neptune Society
offers information and the wife
still loves you even when
the TV flicks the mortgage
to your brain, to a drug
to a talking M and M, to a car
that wants sex. Something
Eisenhower didn’t foresee nor did Roosevelt
never mind this President
and you aren’t an Idol, a famous someone
nor a free agent dribbling
down the main drag to Paradise.

Friend, the moon is coming up
between the bombs and the sugar-coated dreams
slipped nicely between the lawnmower
and a thumb out for Mount Zen.
But how does one choose on a hot day
or a cold snowy night when the sky
falls white to the distant hills?
Where did it go, this song of ours?
Stand still. Wait a day, a week.
Give it a try. Listen to the click
when your eyes open and close.
Hold up your hands.