For Twiglet #245


Shall I Go Mad? Should? Would? Will?

Shall I spend this drippy end-of-summer day
watching yellow birds flutter down
from high branches to low and then
flutter up? I could clean house. I could pray.
I could sit with my loved worthy spouse
drinking hot or tepid tea, exhuming
Hume, Pepys, Cervantes, Lyndon Johnson, Ian Fleming;
pausing to wonder why those crows are grousing
and in such loud numbers. High-density chaos speakers
on this semi-rural dead end. I could go to town.
As if there were “town” to go to. The center
did not hold. Bake. Eat. Fantasize myself thinner, smarter,
able to leap tall buildings-er. Is this a brown study?
Yesterday there was a red and green rainbow. Tomorrow
is the first day of autumn. Where does time go?