April 25

I'll admit it: spirits are flagging. I'm crawling to the finish line.


Everything is boring.

Yes, everything is boring
now. It wasn’t when I was your age.
We’d sprinkle our heads with fairy dust
(luckily no one had allergies)
and the abandoned garage became a dungeon.
Don’t even ask about the tortures.
Even the internet is boring?
All the interesting sites want money
and you have none.
The television?
Only sports and you don’t care who wins.
It only matters when friends –- or foes--
are playing and today they’re all away.
I saw a program about a man
who was talking on a landline
when lightening struck.
He became a pianist.
I wouldn’t try it though.
You might end up a baboon,
flinging feces, the way our luck runs.
Just listen to the nuthatch
with that same tweet
over and over again.
What is he calling for?
Yesterday he squawked
and I thought perhaps I scared him.
But usually it’s just this tone.
I hear it all the time.
Sometimes it annoys me
that long, piercing note,
its meaning impenetrable.