Road trip, 1965 –

When I was a kid we
planted trees by the lake

72 pine seedlings hauled
north in milk cartons
arranged on the back
floor of a ’39 Dodge

the trees and I were
small, green, pliable
in need of nurturing

the Dodge sits now in a
junkyard, the remaining
pines scrape the sky

I remember each and
every one, hardly trying

Salonica, goneica

She loves me, she loves me not

Played that game as a kid, for fun
with and without the flower,
played it frequently later, for keeps

Won once or twice

I have over picked my life’s quota
of prophetic daisies, come out
on either side of the nursery rhyme

sometimes the right verse, wrong time

It blossomed, it went to seed
It blossomed, it went to seed
It blossomed, it went to seed

Same song, rarely heard second verse