Lungwort

Pale forget-me-nots outside an Arby’s

in Canoga Park. Byron’s Valley,

‘Without the farce of friendship or romance

of Platonism,’ held up all winter.

After my surgery, my hair went white

and I forgot about my novel draft

and the fortune of its protagonists,

Acetaminophen and Ibuprofen.

One person’s honest evaluation

is another person’s snark, one person’s

seriousness is another person’s

burlesque. One’s love is another’s CHUD.

I missed Montreal, though. Its slush piles,

its cemeteries and its ‘mystery cheques.’

Who cares of a flower’s resolve to bloom

once you have a head start on the ice age?