My thoughts race to catch the beat
flicked out by the squirrel’s-tail metronome,
but their jousting for priority
proves as indecisive as the the duel
between the two red-breasted robins beak-fencing
on the front walk, fluttering
airborne in a rally of hits.
That the daffodils have risen again,
waving their yellow banners
in the advancing wind-parade of spring
assures me that Nature will marshall all this flux
into some kind of crazy order.
But what of my thoughts, blowing
wildly in the same wind,
swirling over the dull thud
that reminds me of the question
I sat down on the porch with my
mug of coffee to ponder:
How many margaritas are too many?
T. Allen Culpepper