Sunday, January 9
I JUST LIKE WHAT WE SAY
The doctor said that size never impresses a doctor.
We only care about rate of change.
I closed my hand around that.
Anna is waving on the landing, so I wave back —
somethings about to change
in undramatic wafts of time.
Her mask dangles from her finger.
To no end does the robin at the end of the road disappoint us.
Always, this almost. I don’t like any of these poems. (M. A. Cogwill)