you're out the patio door
sideswiped by a whoosh of beating wings

the barn swallow warns, firmly confident
of her squatter's rights
despite a plastic snake
and her house leveled weekly

raking the circle drive rimmed by woods
you check out every
gleam/odd shape in the river rock,
looking for arrowheads
that still slowly churn to the surface

this is great exercise you tell yourself
in the good, fresh air
not stale, not weighing you down
like the critical air
in there

what does he think?
squinting, suspicious,
watching for you to come around
your eyes to the ground
in deep thought

impulsive, you kneel to pick daisies
this one got you here
this one drew him here
this one shone through the fog
like a beacon 
to the lost, the wounded,
the helpless

you smile at your sturdy oakness
his clutching mistletoeness
your infinite patience
his brazen sense of  entitlement

his lame to your blind
his blotto-Wavy-Gravy
to your Joan-of-Arc-Baez

--Jo VonBargen 2011


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