Daily Poem: April 7

Reunion



It’s the annual family picnic, and my brother
has forgotten the pudding.
I don’t know what we’ll do.

The field is endless, and the sun is shining.

We play a game where you try to guess
which war somebody fought in.

I don’t recognize my guy and guess wrong.

I didn’t notice the animals at first, but the place
is full of dogs and cats,
because everybody brought their pets, I guess,
and the longer it goes on,
the more I meet.

There are even a few small, jittery monkeys and a rare bird,

whose feathers are dull and whose eye
is black as a volcano. Its lineage is ancient, prehistoric even,
somebody says.

It might be the last of its kind.