B.I.R.D.

I remember my father as a small inventor. Of wireless bird cages, he said, the floor is gum. When the bird pushes down to launch, it sticks. Recently he said, thank God you got better looking, we were getting worried. I bought it I said. What were we so still for? In Dallas-Fort Worth, America’s diaphragm, I ate from a white plate at a bar seat. I looked outside and thought about horses that wait to run.

The Window

I want to want

something else

but it isn’t coming

Pain diagrams

a face

on my shoulder snow

makes a window

through which

I see children play

and poems standing

upright in a field