Driving in the Morning After Fitful Sleep
My small town went to the
drycleaners’ over night
while I was sleepless in a
This morning, the trees are greener.
This is a fact. Backlit by morning light:
leaves flutter over the sun’s white face
like bouquets of shaven lime peels. The
world is surreal without sleep. Everywhere
trees are greener. They green greenier.
Roofs cut sharp silhouettes
out of the line of blue sky, like
razor blades scoring tissue paper.
Big dogs grin toothier, tongues
lolling the lollingest lolls
past toothy tooths. The dogs
wear the grinningest grins.
Green hills roll rollier, rounded round
and rolling green. Sun shines. Its
light the whitest you’ve ever seen.
White, white, whitiest sunlight ever you’ve
seen. This town is a collection of cardboard
houses and paperbag stores, a town assembled
on plywood set on two sawhorses
while I didn’t sleep last night. Shoebox packages
done up with strings. Birds flying
above, cracking wings.
This morning’s blue sky is pretty and brilliant.
A brillier sky! Prillier, prilliest
blue sky. Flat clouds, cluds, slide
calm and wipe the face of
the prilliest sky with a whitiest white.
Neighborhoods built from boxes are shaking,
backlit by the prilliest blue.
A cardboard tree without a shadow
is propped at the bottom of
the hilliest hill.
Lots and lots of work to do.