Mutual Forest
Too late to
the party I find
two balloons
in a tree flirting
with escape,
flirting with
falling. Fire has
its dark slash
across the trunk.
It’s “striking,”
we might say,
a shock of
forelock across
a face, or perhaps
move to the next
grove, a good place
for illegal dumping.
I pick up a leaf.
It smells lusty
and loves nothing.
When the rain
hits the crops
we call it
“a good deal.”
“It’s a good deal”
is what we often say
when we get exactly
what we pay for.
Posted 11/13/13