Saturday, June 24, 2017

Thursday Writers Group Comes for Dinner - POEMS: The Extreme Heat in California - Whistle Through the Grass - It's Official: Your most important food


Dedicated to The Rain God

Few folk are from around here
We all move from what we call
Back East.

Moved out here to become
a movie star. My friends
back in Savannah said,
Maggie, we'll never forget
your performance as
the librarian in
Seventy-Six Trombones.

Go ahead and laugh, if you
want to. In California
our mouths are so dry
we can't even spit.

I'm doing my part
to summon the
storm clouds.

That's me with my
raggedy undyed hair
sitting in the
still chill
Lowe's Twenty Seven.

I'm up in the projection
booth with Sam, praying
my heart out to
the Mayan god of the rain.

Lying down on the floor
littered with popcorn
and Ju-Ju-Bees
the Prophetess
at Adelphi
says it will work.


The furry bristledown moving object
in the back yard is a groundhog. It
goes by many names. Woodchuck has
a nice ringtone to it but my
favorite is the whistling pig.

Am sure the Lenape savored the
tender meat, maybe even preserved
them as little round coins over
our snow-covered winters.