mend my mood

poems

reprise alive the well
wisdoms like minions of pigeons
in the park feed on birdseed
a friendly stranger sells
I am caught between the passive
heart and salt among the lung
it is certainly an epiphany this side
of wellness working, the angels
mend my mood on a moonless Monday
afternoon-for in the gloom of
heartfelt ruin-in tune with
june-stewing in her own juices
till the good man took her by the hand and said to Mrs Kaplan your
daughter holds much water
no salt diet/should be bland-and as dad would emote-“then I wrote”–my
daddy would sing, “carry my body back to France, amid the bleeding
corpses-and then armed to the teeth i will rise
from my grave, for my emperor to do battle”.

Do something awesome. Tell a friend: