A lot to think about over oatmeal, yogurt, and banana slices And Other Poems

By Peter A. Witt

A lot to think about over oatmeal, yogurt, and banana slices

In the zuihitsu form

Old dog lies on the carpet legs running in place,
perhaps trying to futility chase that cantankerous cat
who pounced him from the bushes during our late evening walk.

Paper person came early today, slung paper in the bushes,
where it soaked up moisture from late night watering,
saved me the trouble of reading depressing stories, again.

Bouquet of flowers stand wilted in the vase on the kitchen
counter, as does my relationship with joy.

Fog greeted the sunrise, pushed it back a couple of hours,
until it finally dissipated and the creek frog finally stopped croaking.

Changing my morning breakfast from oatmeal with yogurt and banana
slices to banana slices, yogurt, and oatmeal.

Need to do my taxes today, tried leaving a pile of paper on the table
to see if they'd do themselves, but clearly they're not in the mood.

I want to go to Yellowstone this summer, but afraid my wife
has other plans, like redoing the garden, maybe next year,
unless by then Yellowstone has disappeared under the weight
of too much visitation.

Why is there a garter snake crawling across the kitchen floor,
perhaps he heard it's oatmeal Friday, with banana slices, and yogurt.

Telephone plays first notes of Beethoven's Fifth over and over,
mesmerized I wait for it to stop, caller doesn't leave a message.

Dog wakes from his dream, seems exhausted from chasing
the cat, give him water and a treat, he lies down, changes
the imagination channel and dreams of drinking out of the toilet.

Garbage truck hoists trash cans from neighbors yard, I forgot
to put ours out, tonight I'll ask my wife to make us a son
so he can be assigned a list of chores when he grows up.

I sit pondering what are the first notes of Beethoven's Seventh,
after twenty minutes and two cups of coffee, no luck, so I decide
it's time to feed the garter snake my leftover banana slices, yogurt,
and oatmeal.

Driving through southern Arizona

Forest of Saguaros stand at attention,
arms raised in welcome to cactus wrens.

Border patrol stops all cars headed north
from Mexico, unless old white faces are driving.

Golden eagle soars the thermals, binocular clad
birders gaze in wonder, border patrol not interested
in bird's migration.

Herd of pronghorns graze on desert delicacies,
try to figure out how to cross the highway
without becoming roadkill.

Interstate 10 filled with roaring trucks,
herds of cars just moving on.

Wednesday desk drawer discovery

Your scribbles, yellowing
on the page of a long ago
notebook found while cleaning out
your desk after your too early
passing, talking of wheat bread
and crunchy peanut butter
needed from the store,
suit that needs picking up
from the cleaners,
reminder to call mother,
Evelyn, a number: $52.21,
whose referent I can not
determine. Page appears
with no date, no evidence
tasks were completed,
no thought that peanut butter
goes better with strawberry
jam, no forecast that
dry cleaning is now passe, no
notes about what you discussed
with your mother -- dollar amount
is a mystery, unless it's what you
paid for dinner on a night out
with your husband and sons.

Peter A. Witt is a Texas poet and a retired university Professor. He also writes family history. His poetry has been published on various sites including Verse-Virtual, Indian Periodical, Fleas on the dog, Inspired, Open Skies Quarterly, Active Muse, New Verse News and The BlueBird Word.