Laughter like green tree leaves and
smoke square baskets on the breeze.
Love will make a fool of us all,
stopping the Mack truck so the grand mother can cross
the street and what is traded, life for a life and laughter
ahead of every cock sucked, every stretch of skin
unlicked, every hair on fore arm untouched
giving twitch
to the ripple of time and space not crossed
every smoke unshared, every kiss unpushed,
press return. Goose bumps, press return. I will see you tomorrow.
Christmas movie moved. I will see you tomorrow
while the ripples shake themselves into patterns
seen more clear up close where street light cannot go.
Do not come home unwed.
