September:
Pin the Tail on the Donkey
and Peanut Races.
It was a dress competition
and my parents had made me up
as an aluminum foil Knight
until the parade started, the walkaround
in the circle in the gym.
October:
Timothy Leary and Pooh
met the Jabberwocky down the gravel slopes
of St. Martin’s. Pooh wore a silver
bucket upon his head, wouldn’t he.
The tide was like a fire in the arms of the sea
casting the boats like toys. And Pooh
embraced the wind in his close cut
Main of gold cotton fur.
Timothy Leary sat as often he did upon
the Wayfair’s Purch with his arms
locked round his knees.
And a chestnut in his closed palm.
Pooh, he said calmy
where exactly is Ru?
November:
And in the evening down the path
by the brook the trees empty
leafless branches turn
twist and smile,
to be remembered or created.
And the broken leaves chase
each other down the path along
the creek like winter’s butterflies.
And the icy creek speaks of summertime.
Winter is a crime and a passion.
Beautiful contradiction.
September 