July 19, 2010

A little

by Mike Boyle

Not much. No bragging rights. It's
Saturday, lawn done cut to nubs.
This front garden space needs some-
thing. Little bush or tree. Put some-
thing there. Violets bloom early,
now look like weeds.

Put something there. Tomorrow.
Next day. Earth rolling under-
neath, burping fractured planet.
Yes, hike. You like this. When
it's hot not many, just you,
sweating all that out.

All of it. You know what it is
and know it's bad. That you are
possibly bad, also, personally,
to the core, in the large scope
of things with demands of

Fuck that. Hold onto planet
spinning around black hole.
Keep your side of the street
clean in metaphoric and
physical sense. Buy some

underwear that fits. Last trip
to box store you came out
with droopy things in some
box store trance. Who does


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