Double Double
Today a couple of honeymooners came over
to sit on the porch for hours and eat
lunch and coffee cake. The clouds cleared
for them and the frogs burped their hellos
and later poems will be written
with scythes in them and we will all approve
or not. After they left I stirred honey
into my tea (like always) and hoped
the clouds would clear again for them later
so that the moon could shine on their sweet
little cabin as they read their magazines
and sipped their tea. My honey and I
sat on the porch after they drove away,
in different chairs, reading our books
as storms rolled over, the scythed-down
grass flattening against the rest, birds flitting
back to nests. To be honest I can’t tell
a bird’s nest from a bat box but I am
gosh-darned over-the-moon about
homes in general, about porches and the moon
and frogs that celebrate a thunderstorm.
panache, perhaps 