"That Was a Pretty Long Explanation
of Your Body" by Bob Raymonda

Oh I don’t know, I’ve been thinking 

a lot 

lately about how in time we’ll all 

turn into the giants 

we once looked up to; 

wearing our ill-fitting pants,

and longing for the wisdom once 

offered to us by our mothers.

 

A new crop of little ones 

will tug at our ankles 

and look to us for

those answers we could 

never quite find

ourselves.

 

So we’ll throw colorful plastic

at them 

until they reach such a 

point that they have turned into the giants

and we have started to shrink again,

toward our own graves,

 

                                                                    and the rarely watered

                                                                    flowers they leave behind to

                                                                    mark our meager existence.

 

But otherwise I’m doing great, how are you?

 

"Your House Is Full of Potato People
and Little Baby Bugs in Rugs" by Bob Raymonda
 

I walked in my old front yard today,

it wasn’t ever really my yard— 

was just the park across the street,

but it still felt like coming home.

 

there was a flock of ducks in

that liminal space between

the outfield of the baseball

diamond and the corner of

 

the soccer field. There had to

have been at least fifty of them; 

all huddled together like they were

having a Very Important Business

 

Meeting. I tried my best to

respect their space, but I

had to take a video to show

all my friends. They walked

 

en masse in the other direction

and as they noticed me following,

took flight simultaneously, moving

fifty feet to my left. Close enough

 

to remain on their own turf, but

far enough away to let me know

that I was not, could not, be part

of their Very Important Business— 

 

because, you know, I’m not a duck.