Tuesday 117: Poem

Afternoon

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedIn the plane of the window
there’s a still field
of sheep and wind
stirring only
the top of the only
tree.
The afternoon
mild, an ice cube
cracking
in a glass
of water and lemon.
Summer thunderstorms
visit the patio
like regular crows.


You are
what you’re doing:
Tearing the orange apart,
then dividing it between us
in the cab of the pickup
clicking with heat.

Looking over
your left shoulder, then
your right, trying
to figure out
what to do
with the rind.