From Drawn & Quartered, 13-20

(13)

Ah, the perfect place to push back
from a perfect dinner, dessert wine at hand –
seaside, starlight, boat in full sail
coasting back into harbor

(14)

Ezra blushed the first time he kissed Dorothy
She cupped his chin; he gathered her in
at the lips. She arched her back; he dreamt
of her brushing her hair out over her head

(15)

Grandma’s got long arms – they drag
the floor from her hospital chair
but they’ve got no pick up left,
nurses pouring tea down her throat

(16)

The more her mother demands the perfect note –
Beethoven’s bust looks on disapprovingly as well, --
the more the pianist dissolves, mere brush stroke
for a body, blank pages for a score

(17)

Though the smoke’s the most substantial thing
about him, they say he’s too old to smoke, his pipe
a gavel that pounds his breath away,
justice issued in a spasm and a cloud

(18)

He wants to wake his wife up, pulls her
in her chair, her hat tipped forward,
into the cornfield. “If she won’t wake up,”
he snickers, “she might work as a scarecrow”

(19)

If that angel ever grows up, stops trying
to please everyone (flying now up to the gods,
offering a bowl overflowing with fruit) he might
put his wings, eagerly unfurled, to use

(20)

Throwback on his head – dunce cap, sleeping cap,
but his scowl’s contemporary, a presence
burning the book he’s reading, propped in grass,
pages threatening to burst into flame