"When fog comes, everything
goes away . . ."
except the geese waiting at the
necks bent on trimming stray
fertilized with cigarette butts,
chewed gum, and used tissues.
Such a crop
could hardly be desired, but
the way they
go at it, you'd think ecology was
all the rage.
Before long, the fog blows away.
reappear, as do massive ships
approaching the harbor,
and we mothers convene, watching
who, being a very committed father
seems honestly glad
to retrieve his son, as we do our
Sighing as they disappear into a fog
and the cares of age.