Indian Summer

-Pink Ribbon by Greg Keeler



INDIAN SUMMER

the kind of day
that’s so clear
you can see the color
of God’s eyes shining
through waving treetops
a striking lucidity
flashing branches & tails
where jerky squirrels chatter
& ratty crows mumble
like muttering old men
coughing up
cat calls & chicken talk
spasmodic songs
full-bodied contortions
in your skunk dug yard

a pair of eagles circle
around a whistling osprey
& the not-so-fat cat snores
curled sunny in tall grass
by the rhubarb alley
hound dogs whelp out a duet
yodeling jailhouse blues
from separate pens
blocks apart & sluggish
bald faced hornets
consider you ain’t nothin’
drowning in beer

red tumbles yellow
in the blue fall breeze
& our green scribe
eyes this sweet summer lie
youth wanting to articulate age
hope & fear counting on next year
trying to make sense of grubs
love worms & death
science poetry TV or meth
trying to communicate
what he thinks he knows
what he sees & believes
that this is it
& damn ain’t it grand
on days like this

-Mark Gibbons