Friday, Fall, Forever Poem by Brett Rogers

[On a perfect day,
On the ‘computer connected to brain’ eternity-loop]

… I have left work in the dry, afternoon Sun
To start my vacation early.
They’ll miss me and call everyday with problems,
(“Sorry, hun, I gotta take this. It’ll just be a minute, ” and you’ll give me your fake grumpy face)
Just enough to quench my worth …

Traffic is playing against type,
And the stop lights are stuck on green.
The radio plays songs I love, but rarely hear.
You’ve left the driveway for me to park in
(“I know how hard you work”) .
I step easy from my height-appropriate vehicle,
Around our tiny front yard,
(Blocked in L-shape
From the neighborhood dogs
With a subtle, hand-crafted fence)
And into our manageable bungalow
Through the robust and ornamental door (Parisian perhaps) …

You are home, of course, dirty and in black, capri tights, and the dogs are wild and grass-stained,
And last week you quit smoking and it’s going really well …
… We make love,
(While the babes cuddle on your pile of dirty clothes)
But it is such explosive passion
We feel its certainty,
And our day is left to be much more …

The Fall Sun rolls low over the tree-tops.
You and I hold hands on the front porch
And
Are
Just … quiet …
Beas calmly greets the passersby,
And in-between he plays catch with Gracie (a new trick they’ve learned) …

… Clarence and the Rubber Trees
Reach, reach, reach up and out
(Into this incredible dream)
And we all drink and bathe in the waning warmness of the sky,
Crying openly and finally
With deep breaths …
Not sad, but overcome …

The things we aren’t
We can become,
And the things we are
We can’t …

* * *

I found a Parliament butt in the open-air hallway outside my door.
I dream so deeply that you were there,
Wanting badly to come in.
[I wish everything but to speed this death.]