while the dishwasher runs

you sleep as deeply as you're able
everything wakes you lately-slip
 pf a trip wire, the rattle of sabers.
in the corner, a cat considers the trap
laid for the immanent pisser. someone
must be the next. is poison or baking soda?
i dunno, you try it!
it's march two thousand sixteen
and spring continues its unseasonable debut`
the cherry blossoms are busting out like nine year olds
with estrogen contamination.  my feet walk
noon time white beach sand at midnight
the ac lost its cool, all menopausal, about two weeks ago
as this warming trend began. the oaks shed their brown
skirts for green,-all the cars are wearing the castoffs
this season.  season of sneeze and shake it off
season of gamboling sinus attacks, season of bears
all over wall street. they aren't liking what they see
after the long winter nap-trumpets strumpeting
while someone got the wise idea of creating a bern this season.
the bears know fire gets out of control so easily
especially when hot winds get blowing
it doesn't appear to be cooling off anytime soon,
the water's just about right to scald this seafood salad red
and feed it to neptune or whatever passes for  an oceanic
god these days, getting fat off the calves of greenland.
yes the fat cats are out to sea on pea green boat
eating pea soup, spilling out soap to clean up that oil spill yo.
i dunno, the heat's \reminscent of earlier days when the only light
in the kitchen was the florescent one over the stove where gramma
cooked the sunday chickens . it cast the shadow of the hood
over the double sink on the left wall where dishes from dinner
were stacked, already dry, waiting to be taken out
for bacon and eggs and grits in the morning. even that
cool light put out too much heat in the middle of summer.
plastered in bed despite the sticky hot sheets because
to move was to lose the blessed air from the fan.
all you could do was toss and turn the sheet
one side to other, like a fever dream.

aonight the door is open for the breeze because
if you aren't awake, the mosquitos don't bite.
my skin's way too tough for them
and i think all that deet w ran through summer
nights playing air raid, playing hide and seek
in the clouds forming from the back of the county
truck , its orange light flashing like a spotlite
in a pow camp just like on hogan's heroes
probably charged my blood with mosquito repellant for life,
or mutated my genetic code for it. can we get a patent on that


i've never lived in freezing cold. haven't spent more than a week in it. i know it kills, but we're aware of the danger. this heat is gonna be a new thing coming on it. siestas will make sense.
a wall, not so much. hah, look at that. the dishwasher outlasted me. call me droopy.
nite.