We bathed in clothes

Witches are expected to grow up, she wrote
make a volte-face

A yellow visor, soft nose, spherical shirt tied at waist
rolling downhill at a good clip
Another cap and another
A "Welcome" sign so I should feel welcome

Scientists are coming to the party
which is really nice
One bottle of wine doesn’t go very far

Reflective blue lenses hide eyes
a reflective blue casque

The driver is past middle age
his skin loose below jaw and below eyes
he traces a route on a map

A spirea’s browning flowers, a wordless white rectangle
silver reflecting muddied sunbeams
The tree has too many arms, all raised
The bridge deck rises, revealing lesbian graffiti
Half the tree is seeds, a baby croaks like a heron

In pink flip-flops and green crocs there is always an Other
always music, simultaneously urgent and dragging
like an old woman’s instability, not often beautiful
but applicable to a multitude of circumstances