No Time

(31 March - 13 June 1990) after Joaquin Miller

It’s about to rain; snails crawl out to eat the poppies. A neighbor stops to let her dog pee on the ivy. I drag the hose out to water the camelias, and the water runs down a gopher hole. This is no time to write a poem. In the backyard where the cedar had cast its cool shade the ground is too hard to turn. This is no time to write a poem. Spring fever. Birds sing in the breeze, like cars that pass to take the mind away. This is no time to write a poem. The neighbor’s lemon tree drops rotting lemons in the fountain. Mosquito larva wiggle in the murk. This is no time to write a poem. We have torn the wallpaper off the kitchen walls. The bedroom doors are in the garage. This is no time to write a poem. There’s no milk in the fridge. It’s late, wife is going to bed, and I’m feeling woosy. This is no time to write a poem.