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Dusted [May. 1st, 2011|07:03 pm]
So the warm air coaxes the pollen out of the plants, and I sneeze and ache. The muddleheadedness of waking lasts all day. I keep forgetting things— keys, lists, grocery items. Everyone at the store seemed muddled, too. Even the printers at the check stands were slower than usual. Have the plants learned to invade machines? Will motors sprout vines and our cars be engulfed by tendrils?

Across the street a big dog sits in the bed of a pickup truck and stares at me for a moment, then lies down to sleep. The strange neighborhood he's visiting can't hold his interest. The woodpeckers laugh. They're in on a joke I don't get. Never mind. It must be time for my nap. When the pollen flies, it's always time for my nap.

Sunday Verse


byFrank O'Hara

Have you forgotten what we were like then
when we were still first rate
and the day came fat with an apple in its mouth

it's no use worrying about Time
but we did have a few tricks up our sleeves
and turned some sharp corners

the whole pasture looked like our meal
we didn't need speedometers
we could manage cocktails out of ice and water

I wouldn't want to be faster
or greener than now if you were with me O you
were the best of all my days