I’m below the snowline
biodegradable as hell.
– Red Shuttleworth (“Cafe With Slot Machines”)
When the taxman finds us,
there’s always the argument
over appraisal of this and that
accomplishment, certain failures turned
skyward to face floating white cumulus
with hopes of a more productive afterlife.
The news is too much, poor excuse
for children’s stories peddling common sense.
No Aesop, not even the Brothers Grimm
can keep the future in bread crumbs—
no little red hens to do the dirty work,
no hands-on tools for grindstones.
When he comes, we may be out in the barn
with friends, dusty antiques with loose screws
he may overlook if the dogs don’t
give us away, so far from the house,
trying to freeze time by supposing
we might have made a difference.
drycrikjournal 
I’m sure you’ve been told this before, but reading your poems and posts have become an integral part of my morning.
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Yes, I have been by kind friends. Most everything is fresh and often edited after posting, an early morning exercise, a habit I couldn’t kick if I wanted. You’ve been a steadfast follower and liker. Thank you.
I truly love your Gloria Steinem quote: “Writing is the only thing that when I do it, I don’t feel I should be doing something else.”
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Thanks for the follow, John! One of the reasons I love reading your blog is my family are Californians. Coastal City Californians, but I have happy memories of vacation trips through inland No CA.
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blue as a bare foot left too long in the snow . . .
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The taxman can be cruel and it seems to stupid to understand. I remember my uncle fighting them up in Whitmore.
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