Leaving the house, four o'clock



The cat's vertebral curl
a soft cuss of a hiss
a slow-motion antipathy

to the sheltering birds
who do not startle in their trees

on a regulation afternoon in late May
the wide pale tree petals
fluttering down like shuttered eyes
huddled in the sidewalk
and in a doorstoop a puddle
fills like a waxing moon.

Tongue-guttered
worn hands wan face
unable to grasp umbrella rib,
car key, shoe strap

splayed venetians,
eyes like clockwork ticking over
that gray swimming sea of a sky

oh mirror leave me be I am unwilling
to part with this mood

or maybe I'm too tired today
to do or say a thing to you
(but I want to call & say "I do"
before you even ask me to)

quiet May
no fireworks no crackerjacks
all still, all lie-in-wait
while my fingers grasp
umbrella rib
car key
shoe strap.




May 2004 © Jesse B. Castaldi