Are the stars out tonight?
Too cloudy. I've put out
Scott's valentine plant
giving it just the right
spritz of rain this evening.
Saddened, I must tell you
that Sandy Wood the voice
of what to look for in the
sky, has retired. A quirk in
that musical lilting voice
of hers mandated the change.
I'd imagined, when she spoke,
her lounging about in yellow
silk pyjamas, drinking green tea
from a demi-tasse.
As I drove home from Giant
I passed houses on my street
whose recyclables were loaded
with empty cartons.
Quickly I put my own items
away, including a Starbucks
cuppa java, and raced back out.
Rainlets dropped as I loped
down the street. Who cares
if I gets wet. I'm not gonna
melt and my purple hair has
already lost its lustre.
What do they eat in their
homes with young children.
Raisin Bran pokes out, bold
as a gondolier in Venice.
Gallon jugs of milk. Ah,
I remember milk for my then
little darlings, were they
Sarah and Dan?
And the adults? Boxes of pizza
whose smell lingers and beer
of all sorts fit to burst
your belly.
Scott Kelly the astronaut
is on TV upstairs. Jovial,
tossing off difficult things
as not a big deal, I shall
take my Raisin Bran - if only
upstairs to watch.
*
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