I was a little disappointed in how my 'time of day' poems turned out. I have two here that are really just sort of meh. The first may be slightly better than the second. The third is another type of form called an etheree. I hope to work on a reverse etheree, as well.
The window is closing on being able to
squeeze in food shopping before dinner,
but it needs to get done so that another
Saturday night isn't spent in the likes
of Aldi and Shop Rite, when we could be
anywhere else, window shopping,
strolling long mall walkways or even
taking the dog for a walk along the river.
It's 12:22pm in California,
where my cousin Brianna could be driving
around with the top down in a convertible
soaking up coastal sun and gloating about it
on Facebook to make her sister Hayley jealous.
Hayley's back in Minnesota, where I'd rather be,
at Target Field watching a Twins game.
It's 3:29pm now, and I'm thinking of how
my friend Katie is spending this mild April day
at her grandfather's funeral.
It's the last place I'd want to be,
but it reminds me that I need to call my parents.
I use the last of my energy to mine
my brain for the words floating around
without cohesion and to experiment
with making homemade donuts.
The smell of cinnamon twists through
every room, but smell is deceiving
when I could end up with a pan of
dough, stuck in a circular clump or
burned to the bottom, a colossal
waste of time,
as is trying to find substance in
incoherent ramblings on four hours of sleep.
her head cocked
towards the window
watching bodies pass
fleet of foot, a quick glance
and she's turning cobalt blue
eyes into his enamored gaze,
he fixates on her dark hair, pale skin,
his tongue kept, etches her face in his mind.