DAYS OF REST

I don't know where these poems are coming from, but at least they are coming.

I have a definite issue with weeds, apparently, which I will explore later.

I think this poem is in response to the bizarre, quiet nature of New Year's Eve. I walked around the lake and neighborhood this morning, and it feels abandoned with everyone out-of-town or "tucked in." A disclaimer: my kids are not watching TV all day, don't worry, we are playing outside thanks to global warming . . .

Santa brought Razor scooters - zoom!

Tucked In

j.b. rowell

Used mini-vans supine
before quiet houses clad
in siding. Weeds
can never be gone,
peek between brick
and pavement.

The secret is to know
that everyone else
has weeds too. Even
mailbox flags that swing
free: never upright
or tucked at the sides
of plastic bellies.

We are all in hiding.
Children before TVs,
parents, "resting their eyes."
It's okay, rest,
the new year will bring
open doors, and a sharing
of life's similarities
and dull tragedies.