—FURNITURE’S OUT ON THE FRONT PORCH, MUSIC’S UP LOUD

The Joy of Being Missed

  

If only because the babies need you.

Though the rosebushes need you, too.

Open-air bodegas need you. Blueberry sorbet needs you.

Butterflies and bees.

What-looks-like-Borscht-but-isn’t needs you.

Breathing unimpeded needs you.

The Book of Love needs you.

Better Than Ezra.  Bob Dylan and bar music.

The Before-it-really-ends needs you. The But-But-But needs you.

Even the bruises need you. (Especially the bruises.)

The strawberry moon needs you. The last bottle needs you.

Hot air balloons.

Broken bones.  Broken promises. Every broken thing needs you.

Belgium needs you, too, though only in the right clime. Same with Belize and Bavaria.

Sometimes blue alone needs you.

Sometimes simply burgundy.

Or Bordeaux.

For sure boredom. Belief in fairy tales. Belief in Yahweh.

The Bee Gees and Barry Manilow need you.

Bipolar needs you.

Bitemarks need you.

Bohemia. Bulimia.

Church bells and Hey-Beautiful-where-are-my-car-keys? need you.   

Koalas and bears of every species need you.

Boxed crayons need you. Christmas boxes, too.

But the babies, oh the babies, they’re who need you most.

They need you now, in fact.

Can’t you hear them squalling?