What I Wouldn’t Give

What I wouldn’t give for a costume,

a big hairy one.

I would go running through the woods

thrashing the leaves and shaking the trees,

howling and barking to a forest god.

I would stumble upon the poetry class

and break the silence,

sending them screamng with their

papers and pencils flaring behind them

in fear of that terrible sasquatch.

“So much for poetry,” I would say.

“So much for poets.”

                                        SP

64 Spruceland Avenue

Now beneath a large beech,

smooth, cold old trunk against my back,

puffs of cloudy air shoot from my mouth

and quickly vanish.

In my hand a beech nut

The prickly outer shell

Opens to reveal it's seeds

Reminds me…

of a child, leaping from root to root

around and round the old beech

as familiar as the freckles on my arm.

I miss a step, falling foot first into the lava.

It's okay, I have two lives left.

PB