Exasperating nothings
with a fever for forethought
and a riddle basin for catching
unbequeathed daisies–follow not,
for the least of your troubles
would become the most.
Guarantees rarely govern small towns
in the third month of a blizzard,
but you can set your watch
to the puckered up old mouths
going to meetings and complaining
about the heat not working when it should.
It’s not enough for them
to have survived through all they know.
They must complain for the sake
of the younger generations
who otherwise would never have found out
about the trying way the world used to run.
Everything felt like an uphill marathon
with bare feet in shifting sand dunes
on the third hottest day in recorded history.
The hottest day ever recorded
came before they even milked their first cows,
and they have stories [oh they have stories]
about how their daddies rocked them to sleep at night.
WHARVED 