Flood Plain

The red jacket waits in the closet to go by.

The lizard waits in the sunshine to go by.

Money, large denominations, waiting to go by.

Youth going by, the heart turns to solder

then no, a mimosa tree. Herd of elk, milk

on the shelf, the kingdom of the elf.

Piñatas going by. Wham, birthday boy

swats, scattering trinkets and sweets.

Flash going by the camera. 500 miles per hour

weekend, speed of light Dalmation pup.

Great mental effort going by but not enough

to mend a string. In a red jacket, you go by,

the moment lost, firecracker gone off, just

gunpowder-smelling shreds. The day drags by

the moon then the moon returns as if looking

for its keys. On the table they wait

not going anywhere it seems to the naked

eye but actually flying by, flying apart,

made of atoms locked in repulsive force.

My buddy’s son now six feet tall, took all

of what, twenty minutes? Stop! Hard not to want

to get a choke-hold on something anything,

a piece of bread, stay, it can’t. Spring

throwing itself a parade as it goes by,

fire truck, veterans, jet plane, wedding

going by so long the end’s a funeral.

Popsicle stick bumping down rain-glutted

gutter. Let it go, says the wise man,

lest you be too weighed down going

where you must go by.