Thirteen years
buried ‘neath the loam
in my backyard
silent digging
far from watchful eyes
waiting
for a tender morsel
of fresh larvae.
Thirteen years ago
I was writing
a special soliloquoy
for a special night
just ‘An Ordinary Man‘
in an ordinary town
channeling Leacock
or at least trying.
Tonight I sat
deep in shadows
from the porchlight
a quiet moment
with a gentle dog
leaning against my leg
listening and smiling
while cicadas sang.
ml’25