Trying to Write a Nature Poem; Waiting on the Muse
In truth, it smells a medley
out here:
pipesmoke, rainwet grass,
rabbit shit scattered pollywog
across the damp gravel driveway,
the carbon footprints of SUVs
driven past on 194
(gas fumes spilling into
the ether).
Bees hop from flower to flower,
cross-pollinating,
unintentional third parties
in an orgy
of stamen and pistil.
I wait for something
interesting
to happen…
some woodland creature
to come up to me,
stand on its spindly hindlegs,
and say “Hello there!
I am Nature. You have experienced me.
Congratulations!”
It doesn’t happen.
Guitar notes reach my ears
from upstairs (noisy
neighbors).
I am still waiting.
