Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

Morning Walk

The wind circles about me, raking
into my hair, as I stroll in the middle of
our easy street; rarely a car passes by.
A neighbor waves, calling me over.
He talks of Arizona, the immigration law,
Leonardo DaVinci, the recent bat infestation,
a restless night, and life overwhelming.
“Happy to see you,” he says, retreating.
The instant he stops, I think
Did he think he made a failed joke?
but his eyes reveal that I reminded
him of his wife, dead eleven months
who once showed me how to crochet, and
with Chanel No. 5 pouring from her pores,
picked up the plates to freeze leftovers.
My good-bye dies in echoes, and the wind
still circles about me, raking into my hair.