Large and beautiful,
bright red,
tasteless tomatoes.
Spring morning,
the sudden chill
of a hidden winter.
An empty house,
too many sounds
in the basement.
Great Poseidon,
holding his nose,
swims past the oil rig.
Even Mozart
unwanted in the ear
just noise.
Too large a menu
I can’t decide
what I don’t want to eat.
Scent of bear
in the deep woods,
much faster steps.
Smart kids
raising their hands
before the questions.
Ghosts of wind
rock the chair
on the empty terrace.
A shrine full of tourists,
mystery fizzles
like a stale Coke.
TOM HENIGHAN'S Journal 