Your blurry pics have me perturbed, sasquatch. Forgive me when I ask
for clarity, for recency, for too many whiskered bottom dwellers
have swum into my pond. Alas, we meet for piñon gins after so many
woofs. Underneath the bar top I tug at the knots of your woolen thigh
I may not be on your playing field but I rarely trim either we bond
over our hirsute habituals; your beard, my dirty blonde ‘stache
we unsugared lumbersexuals brush mane against mane
hoping the soft side of velcro sticks to the soft side of velcro.
Nothing catches. Minute hooks essential for adhesion, woebegone
I longed to be hunted and gathered by your misanthropy
But my bare-footed beau, you’ve vamoosed me for whiskerless
bucks awed by your warmth, your ability to twiddle fire.
Flint! Flint! Armfuls of tinder! Crack these embers to the high
pine tops, huck them skyward to their twinkling cousins!
I will follow the Northern, wish to reminisce without photographic
evidence—for you have left big shoes for my next lover to fill.
The Bad Boys of Summer
I am a sucker for the charms of hummingbirds
Passing through our estival swells
Though I worry for the Rufous’ puny heart
Hundreds of flaps per second reckon
How many from Mexico to Alaska & back?
The rumours are not true: they do not
Hitch rides on the napes of Canadian geese
Of course, it would be cute if they did
But no, they bully: territorial bastards
Necks wreathed red & orange
Like baskets of plucked bell peppers
Feathers like scales confirming tiny dinosaurs
Still dart from jicama to rama del toro
Swooping in like the boy visiting from out of town
Taking little sips here and there of this and that
Then off to the next those flippant little fuckers.