the monkey bars

are rusted through

and slide is tiresome long

–rings too far to reach

–swings too hard to teach
 
 
the merry-go-round a creaking circle of dizzy

though it is

–a round.

seated, then, on bench

still slick with morning dew

and cool from the night

I tie my shoes

in bows

–carefully

carefully–

regarding a pond

missing ducks

pooled shine in dawning sun. . .

between cat tails

and sedge—

I gaze.

I

dreamed

and in that fugue

lost something

and in that state

needed to get out

and of that mind

failed to recognize

but waking, I

–found what I had lost,

lost urgency

to leave,

yet still

couldn’t see

with knowing—

I.

I keep trying to

wrapeverythingup

neat-like
 
 
~with a bow~

knowin’ the variables

and all 3 w’s

for

t,

t,

‘n

t

–today, tomorrow, an’ then

like I know my own name,

but I can’t and what

can you

wrap up, really…

besides burritos,

peasant skirts,

and plastic…

–an ace bandage only braces

a sprain,

and has to be removed

and wrapping up remains

for that time

time is truly over,

and even gift wrap

–with its trappings

of

mind,

material,

&

imagination

~complete with elusive bow~

is destined for the shredder.

So, maybe its okay that everything is just…

there.

Unaccounted for,

unorganized,

unplanned,

and unbowed

–there.

a rap song

in the background…

unwritten,

but known.