it is not quiet tonight
i creep in on little cat feet
masked by the sound of
blowers in the air
all yards:
watered
mowed
weed-eaten
trimmed
blown clear from here to tangier
*
crack these sticks for me
feed em inta the chipper
shit, it’s gettin dark when does
daylight savings time start?
april this year next year march
man, time is fucked up in this country
*
back on the trailer
tie er down
throw the chains over
which one next?
how much gas?
how bout we do one more,
it’s only eight-thirty?
no one will care
no one will hear us
they’ll all be wasting
their bubbles
away.
The Writing of John B. Randall 