Thursday, April 26, 2012

A picnic poem

I keep imagining the sun above some clouds
under which have grown some trees
with limbs that reach expansive, shady lengths
And under those lengths is a table
upon which is, among other things, mac n' cheese
and beside which is a vat of vodka-lemonade
or plain lemonade, either way
People populate the picnic bench
Aron's there Sara's there David's there Lauren's there
Graham is on my lap, pulling a paper plate
this way and that
We eat and laugh and drain the vat
The only thing dirty about the scene is that it's fantasy
That and the actual dirt under our feet
Below the picnic table, the clouds, and the shade trees.

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