how sweetly the bloom

Minor headache
America is loping along
one foot in the stirrup

the other shaking off
a wolverine; still,

driving with you is
fine, looking for a
restaurant –

a poem, a she-wolf
or some really good
sauerkraut

She tells me they
had to stop feeding
the birds because

of the influx of “Norwegian
Rats,” big as gophers,
then we meditated

and then I pondered
Laurie Anderson’s change
of voice, and how sweetly

this politics blooms into
something familiar; if
only, if only, I hadn’t

rolled with this genre
if only I’d felt it rock
through the cracks,

and spoken more lightly
of myself. If only that.

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