hold one up to
whatever light of a lamp

silver coin, angled
to show a sheen

lifted at the sun

you can see old Bill Milnes
his cheek with vein scrawl

and the back deck in
Dennis, Massachusetts

Andre the poodle, black
curls of his fur, soft contrast

to pine quills, brindled
stacks of thatch , brief sticks

that scare the bared feet, or
Andre's hot nose.

If I was there now
I'd be bored in the

afternoon, nothing to do
not eating a pear I never

had a taste for pears.