John Nelson


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Best Poem of John Nelson

Sunday

Sunday
Mornings with dew and
Ponds bearing fowl:
A heart-shaped
man-made pool of
Cess:
feathers and shit and and sloppy human trash,
Bright green algae caked on the surface;
As a child I would arrive
And leave;
Between I would toss stale bread
And run,
Giggling,
when the billed birds
Jumped at their treat:
Feathers flying in flux.
I'd count the quacks,
Tell my mother the number
And she'd laugh and smile and
Live and love,
The faraway look in her eye
Replaced with maternal fondness
For but a moment.
(Even then I ...

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