Hollywood moves things around
to tell its own story
its own way. All we can do is forgive.
Some clichés are made for tv.
The neighbor’s orange hunting vest hangs
on the deck, drying in the pale
morning light. Eager dark
cells are taken from the left breast
of my friend. Yesterday the wind
moved a mountain
of leaves from the front yard of the empty
house next door to all
our yards. The neighbor’s orange
hunting vest hangs like a neon angel’s wing
in the pink morning.
All the sweet gum
and tulip poplar leaves go yellow and bright
with the sun. Wind
admonishes the flattened mountain. All
we can do is forgive
Hollywood. Dark stitching repairs
an orange pocket. Blue
sky asserts itself. The children awake
and take target practice
against a plywood board.
Some clichés are made for tv. My friend
awaits the next word.
