words hang in the air
like dirty laundry
for everyone to see
twisting and flapping
in the gale of anger
the boy’s mouth daring
with impertinent speech
shocking
what sass back he shot
from a tongue soon unable to fight
the froth of bar soap scrubbing
the whole load into bitter memory
later tainting his retorts and repartee

Some summer writing appears in the Loch Raven Review for your reading pleasure.

the goats know it
before it comes
sense it in the radar of their horns
aimed skyward
probing the atmosphere
with its advancing
storm;
restless
they buck and kick
then retreat to their shed
dark and watertight
where the lightening light
flashes in the corners
through dusty spider webs; and
when thunder finally falls
they hurl at each other
cracking horns
rattling brains
asserting terrestrial power

consuming oxygen and wood in the
ovens all five of them burning hot
feeding these flames my job
blowing hard with the bellows
to bake bread and what meat to roast for supper
as the boys suffer hunger pains
want apples sauced and
thickened in the pot concentrated
and sweet to break fast this meal
I’ll heap on their plates
yet time passes in the making
and discomfort grows as
they pick up old arguments
shift and wrestle to the floor
with legs kicking tipping the table
tugging hair by the tangle-full howling
faces hot as embers
and the bread finally thumps done to the center
breaks open steaming melting butter
and the boys right the table
take their seats
and cool down

between the leather doors of the
memory book
I house your life paste you
in with your famous bubble quotes
those light bulbs flashing over your head
illuminating years of pages
and decorate the rooms
with patterned scissor cuts
around the borders in bold
triangle and square colors
tape in flowing blue and red ribbons
ABC+s and
a curl of hair
the paper on the walls embossed
with floral patterns recalls
the garden where you sipped mint tulips
at your first tea party