in those dependent days they worked

nights and days and when home slept so

we had to stay quiet despite

the urge to loudly play so we

kept the TV low, laughed with the

laugh track and didn’t understand

spring and winter and spring again

This bullet is for you he said and poured another drink. Of course when the robots take over no one will notice. Har har gulp. But should I really tell you about the feeling that came over me one day vast as the sky while I watched insects swarm a red mass of hair and bone by the side of the road. If only. The day was hot and he had just been forcibly removed from office so we thought we’d throw a little party. Little did we know that her speech would sour the whole thing and make each of us long for the home we would never see again tucked into the side of a mountain where dogwood blooms and that little pond with so many frogs in spring. But that’s the way it goes. When they bring it out you try to eat with a smile.

Seven in the morning of the first

of May already so bright in clear

blue air birds make their plans

immense. Time for our little

 

dog to darken the earth with her

mighty stream and then a few thimbles

of kibble. As I doze my way back

and glance at the car of the neighbor

 

I try to avoid

a wide disc of wood from some

unlucky loved tree on

the driver’s seat.

I guess everything I

thought about the spring is wrong.

dear friend, we’re it not for the tears held back—
but no, let me start again. After all, it is spring
and the half-clinging leather of newly uncovered

corpses satisfies the flies. But that’s not it either.
Somewhere around here there is a small book from
the past that I’ve carried for years and never read.

I tried to be two things but the paper kept curling and I couldn’t get a straight line so I decided to move to the next town where I met someone who reminded me of a girl I once knew whose name I never learned as we only ever joked about certain forbidden vegetables while we were in school together though it was more of a forced labor camp but when those ghostly blue flowers came again in the spring we were allowed a minute of silence to think of the photos we once had pinned up by our cots now long eaten by moths