Farm cats drinking behind God’s back.
Brush rabbits zagging and zigging
A rooster screeches like bad brakes
The lawn sprinklers hissing
The sound of zippers, the sound of the towels.
People out and about like French fries.
Peacekeepers at a masked ball
While a cuteness coup d’etat ensues at the
Intellectual discount center where
Bats are back working the dusk, demand be damned.
And they’ve thought of everything.
I’ll miss the tiny circus performers riding tiny bikes
Across a rope stretched tight between two posts,
Except no bike, no rope.
Or the way concrete attracts motorized vehicles
To scratch its itches, using ingenuity and antics.
Mushrooms so ugly they’re cute.
A school of spoons drying on drainboard
Stars and planets.
An abbreviated moon reflected in the windshield.
Banyan trees and buttressed roots.
That’s one hundred percent my story
But then like, you know, I mean
I think and I’m pretty sure
Most I’ll miss Ms. Tulóvat Thulin,
Her tocaya, and the twins
Laidlaw and Ludlow,
Madame Bonnie, Mrs. Strong,
And other year round garden performers,
Black, Asian, Latino, White, Fuchsia,