Lying in a Hammock by a Tiny House in Soquel, California

—after James Wright

I’m as lazy as the hummingbird

perched in the tangerine tree. Lazier.

At least she’s grooming herself,

quick over-the-shoulder stitches

with her needle beak, while I

haven’t had a shower or changed undies

in three days. There’s no harm in being fruity

when no one comes closer than ten feet.

The hummingbird basks

until another female tries to milk

penstemon flowers. Then there’s war.

She flies back to her favorite branch.

A male buzzes and they’re off,

circling the garden, circling each other.

Meanwhile my bladder fills

and the pen runs out of ink.

I have reclaimed my life.

A Rising Boat Lifts My Tide

—for K, the iconoclastic office manager

There you go again

turning this low into high

gloom into giggles

transforming this soft bipolar

with your whacky-doo

douchebag-debunking rants

your Friday-afternoon dance

driving out the angst of other workdays

Too bad you’re only here part-time

what with that other life

you’ve made outside

yet you tip the tide

diva of delectability

pratfalling off the jetty

lifting my dark mood

with your daft dive