To a man eating a pear
you pose a question
like
why the hell
is he turning the light
on and off
only when
you're sitting like an insect
on a chair
in the dark of
an autumn house
and revenge and such crap
doesn't count.
Which reminds us, doesn't it,
how yesterday
a nine-year-old girl
got out of her kimono
better than her mom does.
Then
an insect like a golden green
glass bead creeping up
an outstretched arm, oh I know,
all of these stories are too good.
For a midnight snack,
have a pancake or something,
and think it over,