peeping tom

at the window i sit, pretty saro is

purring in my lap. the dogs have

gathered at my feet, baxter is

dreaming again. his lips quiver

when he’s chasing a bear. only

god knows what will happen if

he catches him. isis can’t hear

so much and is a cat poop eater.

old max is getting old. he romps

as fast as he can up the mountain,

and limps all the way down. gordon

is blind, deaf and doesn’t have

any teeth left. i have five seconds

after he wakes from his nap to get

him out the doggy door or he will

pee on the floor.

cars are whizzing by faster than the

limit allows. someone’s going to

get caught by the state police

hiding at the gravel pit a mile up

the road.

out my window is a world i barely

know. not enough to shake a stick

at anyhow. in all my years i’ve

never known a place like this. bad

and good entwined like lovers. most

of them working for eight bucks an hour,

part time. they’ve convinced

themselves it’s better than not

working at all. i don’t understand

their logic. i bitch when i have to

little and when i have to much.

i know where i’ve been and

where i’m going. nowhere is

just another stop on highway


splitting ash for winter, filling the

bird feeders, and stoking the wood

stove for the night is enough for

the day. i’m going to watch out this

window for the deer to make their

way down from the trees at dusk.

they will be coming for corn and

apples. i named the fawn gideon.

she’s not so small anymore, she’s

ready for winter too.

at the window i get to wondering

about the weeds i pulled last spring

to make room for the roses. doesn’t

seem fair to the chickweed. i close

my eyes and plan where i want to

keep the goats come spring.

tomorrow i have no plans. i may sit

at my window, wait for the snow that’s

coming and write a poem about it.

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