—I’LL BE BETTER THAN I WAS BEFORE

 

No Telling What

 

The morning sun is a 

squalling newborn demanding

attention behind the blinds. 

There’s no telling what 

will happen today. Last night 

a swarm of invisible frogs 

sang an opera of protest,

waiting to be noticed 

in the dark because 

who doesn’t want to be noticed? 

The day before, I was stuck 

on a bridge with five million 

other vehicles while stray dogs 

weaved between our cars 

until the guy on the ledge 

couldn’t take any more 

honking and leapt. I wrote a 

poem about it in longhand

and left the note folded inside 

the right cup of the bra you 

put on before work. At the door,

you kissed me dutifully and

might have even detected

I was naked like our first time.