Unaccompanied Minor

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I don’t know
what
angelic aerodynamics were involved
in sending Christ from his Father’s
right hand to Mary’s womb
but when my son took
off toward his grandparents at
140 knots my heart leapt
to follow with stubby wings
which floundered
in his wake and I
wasn’t even sending him
to be crucified
only coddled by flight
attendants who knew
exactly who
he was.

Probable Cause

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They were hoodled
against
the frost and crossed
against
the light
across
the path of the officers
who—
jackets unzipped
—pulled to the side,
searched pockets
and coats for
evidence
they weren’t white
enough to saunter
through the cold.

Sustainable

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When our office switched from recyclable
cups to sustainable mugs my boss

said she never pours tea into coffee
mugs because coffee was a thoughtless

guest who never, really, leaves, like
there’s always one sock left under

the couch to be found six months later.
I shrugged because I’d never found so

much as a quarter beneath the cushions.

Jesus, too, warned against pouring new
wine into old wine skins lest they burst

and stain the carpet but my coffee
mug has never

yet

cracked.

Terraform

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In the water park they gather
beneath its tilting lip,
their bodies sway with waves

held high in the cauldron perched above
their heads, swinging further deeper drip by drip
until gravity overtakes anxiety

falls, crashes against hunched shoulders
or upturned faces and just misses the feet
of the boy afraid of.

But in the future he crafts a future
from the backseat after school
knowing someday our feetprints will shape

the face of Mars which takes
a lot of water and a lot of air
that someone will have to carry

in maybe a big bucket like at the park
carried by bigger rockets but the air
might escape so the bucket will need a lid.

An Ounce of Pretension

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There are few opening lines more pretentious than
‘I have a hot tub’—maybe ‘I don’t own a TV’ or

‘I read The Economist’—but it’s true and anyway
it’s for my wife’s fibromyalgia and it was on sale

and there’s no other way to explain the leaves that
become trapped and float unnoticed to the surface

sink beneath the jets lost in the flotsom to wind
between our toes and lay at the bottom of this

chemical bath dying as we relax color fading like
an astronaut without oxygen who can’t keep her

eyes open as the warnings flash 15 10 5 3 percent
red through her eyelids but she’s long since succumbed

to an isolated slumber and slipped down to death to
wind between God’s toes, a leaf in the filter but

he still knows her name.