Monday, December 9, 2013


Just past the Daphne Lodge 
an armadillo half crossed and then 
stopped in the middle of the road.
Good timing was not his forte.

Things might have gone differently 
if he had not so proudly stood, 
and squinted back our way. 
Of course he could have just been 
as his mother always said, 
"too tall for his own good".

Most likely he'll be missed 
and then toasted to, I'm sad to say, 
at his family's sullen reunion.
I can imagine the softly spoken eulogy 
and the nodding armadillo heads,
a throng of small armored claws
holding their tiny glasses high
for a second or two that day.

I had steered to straddle him with
perfection but it was not to be.
If only he'd read the Dodge emblem 
upon our van and quickly tried to do so,
our meeting could have been more brief
and not ended so bumpily.

Small Sky


Surrounded by a small deep-blue sky 

at the bottom of the well

there is a boy that looks back at me.

He lives down there in the deep coolness 

framed in darkened moss,

a small swimming frog wrinkles his face.