Waiting in the hammock till midnight
Last night, while waiting to collect my son,
I snoozed in the hammock,
when the moon was a crescent and the
sun blued the sky until way past ten.
I hoped I would hear the owl call as he does in winter when I am blanketed in bed,
hoped I would hear the scratch and itch of the mice the cat chases,
wondered what sounds the fox
who wails in a mating, would make on this warm May evening,
But instead I drifted off to the
heavy thrum of engines
cutting through the night.
As we drove home
and he pretended he wasn’t drunk
and I pretended not to notice
there it was
the wild shape
of an owl
swooping to our left,
there, can you see him
on that branch with his huge wide eyes
and round face
then reaching wide to fly
into the night
where young people party and
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