sidebrow

from Reservoir

One branch from a tall bush

waves at me from the edge of the window frame,

desperately, like someone’s trying

to carry it away.

The wind a constant whine

and clouds expectorate.



*



We are terrible:

in good weather,

we steal the crippled

neighbor’s lemons.

We take the ones that hang

over our driveway; certainly

the wheelchair-bound man

could not pick them if he tried,

and besides,

they are so small and fresh

and pungent.



*



Ting tong

chingle clatter

sing sob

rat-tat-ding.



*



We steel crippled lemons against

the mechanical man.

He clicks from the drive,

eyes wild for their

pungent breath.

Hang him sideways!

He does not deserve

their small,

terrible rinds.



*



The wind chimes next door

hate the wind.

It makes them dance and sing,

crazy, crazy.



*



Sometimes I think we should leave

the crippled neighbor a note

for his lemons, a la William

Carlos Williams.

But really, a poem is no substitute

for lemons nor for the cold sweet

plums that you had anticipated

for breakfast.