Ann howells
Out of Season
Homecoming queens flash baroque mums
dyed blue or gold,
trail garish ribbons dangling myriad plastic trinkets
to promote the local high school.
Marigold-petal confetti marks cemetery paths,
and luminaria,
light sparkling through their punched tin
like fireflies, like falling stars,
lend a festive air to our narrow backstreet.
But after midnight a blue norther
dances our patio bench a slow two-step.
Its chilly breath raises goose bumps.|
Boot-shaped-planters scoot,
side chairs do-si-do the table whose umbrella –
like an errant tumbleweed –
sails away, skimming trees and rooftops.
Spirit of Kokopelli passes,
and our flue echoes flute music. Invisible fingers
twitch curtains,
snow dusts cactus, glitters among mesquite.
Homecoming queens flash baroque mums
dyed blue or gold,
trail garish ribbons dangling myriad plastic trinkets
to promote the local high school.
Marigold-petal confetti marks cemetery paths,
and luminaria,
light sparkling through their punched tin
like fireflies, like falling stars,
lend a festive air to our narrow backstreet.
But after midnight a blue norther
dances our patio bench a slow two-step.
Its chilly breath raises goose bumps.|
Boot-shaped-planters scoot,
side chairs do-si-do the table whose umbrella –
like an errant tumbleweed –
sails away, skimming trees and rooftops.
Spirit of Kokopelli passes,
and our flue echoes flute music. Invisible fingers
twitch curtains,
snow dusts cactus, glitters among mesquite.