I replanted your tree
in a stranger’s yard.
I can’t say if this was
after the hurricane or
before the earthquake.
Who cares? I’m happy.
That would about sum
it up were it not for the
lack of time to do all of
the things that must be
done by deadline, which
is either immediate or
impossible. Ask me
how I’m doing. All
is in peril if not lost.
Wait. It’s ice cream
time. I don’t dawdle
on my way to the next-
door store and back.
Peanut butter cup.
Yum. Oh, I have
such a headache
for love. I’m not
ill, if you will, I’m
just having a bit
of gas. Feels like
a heart attack
must surely
feel.
Who
feels?
What’s
the deal?
This is not
sad, definitely
not. The last Ice
Age says “Drive, drive
you slow-poke!” The echoes
of which reach me through time
at light speed after light years. Oh,
I feels.
