Another Renga-Like Poem

Dark Sandusky Bay,
Cold across the curving bridge.
Air conditioned car.

Sweet smell of cherries.
Pissing on the pink tablet
in the urinal.

Sweating, cutting grass.
Moldy turd beneath the hedge.
Old dog dead since March.

To stare or glass no
bird calls in the meadow tree.
Deer bark at wood's edge.

Peek up from my book.
A blur through reading glasses,
long hair and long legs.

Clarence, Sylvester.
Like our grandfathers' names, mine
senesces with me.

At a time like this,
there are no words to express
how I feel about.

Though God still the wheel,
still the car turns about it,
this engine of change.

Bone-deep pressure sore.
Waved away again, two flies
land on his penis.

Return to the marsh
or not: the crane won't be still
on the gravel path.

From across the stream,
wind extends a willow thread
to brush a shoulder.

Ruby lay with me
and beneath my fevered hand
nosed her silky head.

Isolation room,
fourth floor: ladybug enters
on my yellow gown.

Sunrise false cadence
makes of fireflies at twilight.
Play on, then, play on.



I don't much like some of the stanzas, but I find linked verse very hard to revise. Recalling that I work as a nurse might be an aid to understanding at some points.