Day 5: The Hunt

Nine children under six,

twelve parents, one grandmother

to watch the youngest.

A pot of cheese fondue

presided over a groaning table,

no room for plates.

One play structure,

one agitated dog,

one baby gate at the top of the stairs.

Each child with a basket or a bag.

FOUR HUNDRED EASTER EGGS.

We’re Texans,

she explained –

Go big or go home.

Day 4: Afternoon Nap

It steals upon me,

quick as half a blink –

that’s all it takes –

and next I know

the hands have shifted,

the light grown slant,

the quiet house filled again

with dancing footsteps

and unhushable whispers –

Mommy, are you awake now?

Well, yes, I suppose I am.

Day 3: The Bookmen from Brooklyn

The Bookmen from Brooklyn,

or so I’ve been told,

are gents I’d be lucky to meet –

The Bookmen from Brooklyn

sell tomes rare and old,

but not along any known street.

The Bookmen from Brooklyn,

they peddle their wares

through the paths of your mind, not the city –

They ply you with words, then

catch you unawares –

blink and they’re gone! What a pity.

The Bookmen from Brooklyn,

they come and they go,

leaving musty old book smell behind,

and if you have met them,

you’ll already know,

their existence remains undefined.

Day 2: The Manhattan Hat Man

The Manhattan Hat Man,

he has a wee shop –

a storefront near Carnegie Hall.

The Manhattan Hat Man

sells ball caps to top-

hats and Panamas – he’s got them all.

The Manhattan Hat Man

sells hats with a twist –

a challenge, a folly, a game –

If you wear his hat

back-to-front, he’ll insist

that backwards you must say his name.

For “Manhattan Hat Man”

spelled backwards-to-front

is not palindromic – not quite.

And “Nam Tah Nattahnam,”

that tongue-twisting stunt,

brings this haberdasher delight.

Day 1: Rigor Mortis Mouse

For Anitra

No more scurrying ‘round the baseboards,

no more snacking on the brie,

no more fleeing feline claws –

at last cruel Cat has captured me.

No more nibbling crumbs at midnight,

no more sly outwitting traps,

no more slinks past purring sleeper –

Cat’s caught up to me at last.

But what undignified repose!

It’s left me here upon the floor

to stiffen – wide-eyed – mutely lurk,

become Anitra’s dreaded chore.

And so she comes, in stocking feet,

and squeaks to find me in her house –

she casts me out, and that is that –

No more Rigor Mortis Mouse.

Released

for Antira

The flat, thin envelope bears the news:

Nineteen birds have flown their cages,

Each singing more beautifully

Than the last,

Winging it for the light

That comes

After the longest night.

Bird number twenty

Shall dance

To greet the dawn.

Air and Water

last night I dreamed

that I

alone was responsible

for providing air and water

to a festival of people

who were clueless

that these things were not provided

as effortlessly as the music

that played all night.

I overslept my 5am alarm -

I panicked

when I woke – I

blamed nobody,

because nobody

told me it was my job

to ensure the survival

of this species,

nobody.

somehow I found

the person in charge

(I don’t remember her name now, but

she was very calm), saying

don’t worry

all you have to do

is –

and she walked with me

from one pavilion to the next

showing me how to give

what everybody takes

for granted –

so freely

that nobody ever knows

the difference.