X Minus Two

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?

 

Copyright 2016

T. Allen Culpepper

A Floral Parade

This morning my little study’s window serves

as a viewing stand for a freshly mown marching filed,

with a floral parade lining up along the fence:

The showy gladioli, always ready for their close-up,

float and flaunt their extravagant costumes

in fruity shades of lemon and pineapple,

cherry cream and bubblegum; the clematis

delegation arrays itself in a white-hatted

purple V; the young morning-glory vines,

as yet unbloomed, assemble in their uniforms

of shiny green, waving high their tendrils

of potential; a single daisy turns its petaled

head, wavering with the wind, looking for

its proper place. A rusty-throated robin takes

the marshal’s spot atop a fencepost dais,

but a cardinal, though smaller, displaces him,

justifying a prior claim solely on the basis

of his resplendent scarlet garb. The squirrels,

it seems, will not participate in this one;

though out and active, they scurry through

the adjacent trees, jostling each other for

the best spectator perches. Warm light

works its way up the queue from back to front;

the show will start when morning sun

illuminates the whole assembly.

Copyright 2015

T. Allen Culpepper