Morning
Paper
Lured outside by the Friday New York Times
Lurid within a blue plastic bag and
Hemming boundaries of All
The News That’s
Fit To
Print, I froze in tableau.
A late
Summer dew chain mailed the lawn, jackass
Pajamas rucked the breadth of my backside
Hair on the nape of my neck snapped
Awake, jolted me up on my toes bee
Stung cursing until I realized it was
Only You, one of your too cute-by-half
Ploys to draw me out in the open. What
Now? I groused, thought of course, no less than deed
In Your eyes. “Apology
accepted.”
Before I had time to get the words out
Before I had a chance to reflect on
The mystery of faith, before I woke
Up to the fact You were already gone
And I was alone in my bedroom scuffs
Certain only of dawn and this paper
News of Your hand stayed anew in the world.
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