Hushed, they poise,
pupils in palms
pyre of thumbs and digits…
salon 247, the lanes
west to Mondrian, the maroon house of
hail north toward Demuth to pray in planed temples of rust
sail east toward Cassatt all rose cheeks and imp chuckles
step and Matisse your way south
See the monster truck thighs
splat flat all green and gray…
The Monday morning league of
moms and other workday vagrants
like church heads lob their arrows, all eyes arc to idols
the sanctuary of shoulder level
Below, a blip in the blind
spot
Something blond, note stubble
in the lane
Correction the crowd is
hushed
there’s a pimple on the parquet
it’s Peewee’s big land playground!
Go squeak! And giggle
run run run
spin-spam-skip-to-my-lamb
Oops! And Mom spots her
see the teeter tartan totter
Grownup Plan: sheepish
grin then Mother anthem
I know I shouldn’t
have played backwards screw you
Horton hears a hiss under
breath
I need adult time
Second, start strategy:
the (understood) back turn
see a weeble wobble, bumper car
bobble
BOOM! Diddyboom…diddy…diddy…
siren sounds, penguin down
radar runaround
runaway home
Danger:
Stranger
help is on the way said the spider to the fly
Here, horizontal one
Refer to diagram A
Put thumb on knob of shoulder
Right and Left then press-
tumble out tear drops, erect kid on kickstand
pat on back one two three
singasongofsympathy
and return wet shoe for deposit
M. Lynne Metz has lived in the