Molly arches her back in her crib
The tan slats streaked with sun
Odor of talc
Emily gallops a goose step
under a hat with flaps
her hair loose
The yellow blur
of them moves out
in four or five minutes
like parachutes of dandelion
I blew over summer grass

Someone said something
about dogs, peas hiding
under Thanksgiving potatoes
and for some time now
Bob Hope’s name stopped
trickling from memory
or the  tongues of  veterans

But at will Gershwin-blues rhapsody
Clang streetcars in my head
Gene Kelly’s face rhizomes
before my eyes
his short-sleeved biceps
open palms embracing infinity
while Cleopatra’s slave
eyes a streak of burr-oil
on the brown bend
of her mistress’s arm
A gecko scurries
under a leaf of time, past noon

If I think about it this way
avoid the sun
five minutes is long

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