For most of us workers
Payday comes every two weeks

The emerald grass
Takes time to grow

And loyal landscapers
Are going from lawn to lawn
To fruit tree

-- To cut them down to size
Or trim them back
So they can produce
Even more fruit --

The careful accountant is crunching
More and more numbers
The avid artist applying
Layers of paint

They know
It takes movement
To create a still life

Hours of effort
To finally relax

shadow is to light
what smoke is to fire

by the same token
a poem should leave
a trail of imprints on the sand

nic-nacs and what-nots
stored in drawers,
rusty tins,
and bins galore

once again
I'm back with them
and all the things
that might have been

a snapshot
ah! that day on the beach
what ever happened to the two of them?

a set of casters to a broken chair
it seems funny now
but was deemed a disaster back then

why was my first coloring book saved?
I see, I stayed within the lines
what the hell was wrong with me!

It was not what I would call a lazy day
Because although we were driving
Through the country
Without a destination
We were determined to find something
That we could remember forever

The date on an old covered bridge
Captured with a camera
The sweetest strawberries
From a farmer’s market
Just across the state line
A goodwill store and hiking boots
That would last a hundred more days
Than that hike through the Adirondacks