I'm sorry. I'm having some kind of posting problems tonight--I can't get this damn poem to single-space to save my life. The hell with it. At least I wrote it, even though it sucks. Grrrr.
He said filling in the pond
would improve the drainage,
would keep the mosquitoes down.
What did I know?
He was the man.
When it was done, we had
a great gray plain, suitable for foursquare
or hopscotch. Perhaps a place to park
his motorcycle, if he hadn’t taken it.
When nature reclaims this tract,
when this empty house and its kin
are gone, will some tortoise wander back,
looking for water? Will some blind osprey,
dive into the still, hard lake?