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my dad unscathed after years
of military service
only to be robbed
and left for dead
in the streets of saint louis

the energy of a song
rewinding itself
no one has to ask
the cicada
for an encore

the request to sign a politician's
birthday card refused
for all the dead soldiers
and civilians who won't
be having any more birthdays

five rockets fired
at a school in Afghanistan
who tells the parents
their missing children
were mistaken for terrorists

The loss of a child is a wound that never heals.

miles from home
the only comfort I find
is in the lacework
of shadows
crossing the wall

in the car
waiting for my son
at airport arrivals
I switch the radio
to his favorite station

looking as though
they've been out
all night partying
the drooping hats
of sunflowers

I don't think I could race
a snail up this hill
with a heat index over 110
even the smallest step
ends in pools of perspiration

a paper cut
while rolling pennies
it's quickly becoming a day
when the best thing to do
is to do nothing