Rhubarb

The Queen of Meatloaf
Crosses her legs
And bounces her Keds.
Day-lily smile, a liberated intellect,
Spraying her education.
Remembering her shoulders,
she shifts in her seat and laughs.

The King of Corks
traces condensation on his glass
and ‘huh-huhs’ his laugh.
Cratered eyes, a bedroom glance,
he is pretending he might be listening
but is thinking of the next thing to say.
He stares at his socks and wonders.

The galaxy implodes in a rain
of thoughts that fluoresce on their green altar.
It evaporates the bats from the night
like ideas that might have been had
but can’t be remembered.
It makes the raccoons rush home
to rescue the lasagna they left in the oven.

The King and Queen dance on the back deck
in a silver rain, a silent film.
Someone poke the piano player.
Hot buttered popcorn all around!
Let’s see how this one ends;
if the child grows up happy
and saves the world.

Asparagus erupts in its corner
while rhubarb whispers its bitter secrets
and Red tailed hawks conspire
to scream a summer night's knowledge
and rip the morning’s brutal blue blast
with announcements and enunciations
that could ruin the end of this story.