april 1

Chocolate cake for breakfast, coffee,

and a snowstorm that heavies the branches

so the apple tree is stripped into two trunks.

All the cars stuck on the street, my love bright

in their heavy boots to rescue, drive tracks

others may follow. Now also stuck.

The fool had to appear here somewhere,

why not in our reflections?

Yesterday I made a mistake and could say

my shame is also permeating, came down

at 4am, needs to be shoveled, is white,

blinding, and if I don’t take breaks

from lifting it, will give me a heart attack.

I drove these tracks myself, thinking

they would save me, now unable to move

backward or forward. Give me a push,

won’t you? I know to keep my foot

on the gas, not to stop

for thank yous, but wave at the shape

of your body standing in the street.

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