Thursday, September 17, 2015


                 It’s early morn, but workers are abroad:
                 The garbage men pick up the weekly haul
                 Of savory trash through which possums have pawed
                 Leaving our neat containers all a-sprawl.

                Then trimmers from the city’s tree patrol
                Come rumbling up the road to park nearby
                And soon another camphor that’s now whole
                Will be dismembered and in cords will lie.

                Add now the rumbling roars from overhead
                As early morning flights in fleets descend
                Where tourists loving Disney have been led
                To worship at the shrine of Let’s Pretend.

                    So, what’s to make of all this busyness?

                    A verse, of course, which may the Muse now bless.