Don’t
give me flak
do you see
a jacket
on me? Don’t
baby me
no bassinet
around my
hips
no beauty mark
no droll painted pouty lips.
just don’t.

talk and pretend
we are friends.
see how that might
just work?

How do you like them spuds?

(untitled as of yet)

all of god’s plans
sprung to life here in PEI

as an egg tempura painting
the bell dome of blue lacquer
touching the red rim of sand/sea

I become as a pollen grain
on a carpet of white

potato blossoms
up to the rolling coast
temptation to lie
make snow angels

healing in the destruction
of broken stems

seeping leaves
petals thrashed

to drift to the
wet cheek

Shall we shortly

(a bit of silliness really)

Shall we shortly
traipse mad in a zigzag smear?
Squint, there’s the shape of me
– can we make out in the shadowy shallows
this riparian ripe life smelling of the mire
ferns wriggle out of? Spy me. Everyone else
does, doze among those weeping willow shadows
half shore, half unsure, lolling half in tepid water
turning slimy where freshwater snails slide up
the juncture between the being and the reflection
sediment stirred by a stone thrown away
with a shrug.