Soft rain all afternoon, gray mist this evening.
Fresh mulch down. Vincente also trimmed
dead branches from the spruces. Weeding, nicked
the Wi-Fi cable: novice’s mistake.
We’ve got it spliced for now. So Ann’s on Zoom.
Trey’s comatose. Dishwasher churns typhoons
inside itself. The scotch half gone, I crank
Beethoven’s seventh string quartet. I pan
my word-hoard’s shallow stream for gold. I dream
I stuff my mouth with psychotropic leaves
but still can’t screw my rhythms to the sticking
place. God’s strangest gift’s been teaching us
that we don’t need Him. Sad muse whispers in
my ear, “You’ll knock ’em dead tomorrow, Champ.”
Thomas Zimmerman (he/him) teaches English, directs the Writing Center, and edits The Big Windows Review https://thebigwindowsreview.com/ at Washtenaw Community College, in Ann Arbor, Michigan, USA. His poems have appeared recently in Live Nude Poems, Pink Plastic House, and Zero Readers. Tom's website: thomaszimmerman.wordpress.com Twitter: @bwr_tom