for the turn of the year

[John Hildebidle]

New Year

Skiing in July,
fishing in February,

the days disjoint
and groove,

a meltdown of months,
a mind out of whack.

I'm still back at August
where the Beaujolais

that came
from 35 villages

fit sideways
inside my head,

the dorsal fin of it,
the brain slowed

por fin to belief.
Between then and now

the numbers,
an 8-Ball routine

jacked on polyethylene,
trees unmercifully diminished,

choked by maneuverings
and light.

I'll release last year
in May

when I shovel
the driveway

and go geologic,
a Paleolithic hell­

if each season
were twice as long

the year
would wear me well.

<http://www.poems.com/feature.php?date=13879>Teresa Leo

The Halo Rule
<http://www.elixirpress.com>Elixir Press