Poem #3 — National Poetry Month

And Then This Happens


The crazy love fly roamer under the whip

Of spring turns the corner and I’m standing

Along the edge of the bus zone so many of us

Find infuriating with the bus not coming and not

Coming in this atmosphere of waiting where

The trajectory of love’s crazy fly-by pitch is right

In my face until it takes all I have to resist.

So I don’t. I’m in, lounging on the cusp of go-go

And let-let then the open-armed tickle of it.

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