BOB DAVIS ART

Eggrolls

I'm feeling kind of satisfied these days; like I may be losing my edge, softening up.

Being out of work for 6 months can do that, I suppose, although

I know someone who started crying at odd moments,

after he had been unemployed for a year or so; crying –

when the food wasn't cooked right at a cheap and easy diner, or crying –

in the morning when the forecast called for fog.

But me, I'm feeling easy-going and loose.

The sun is shining and the President’s approval ratings are dropping,

and there seems to be a quiet settling into the hills,

down through the streets lined with aging oak trees.

Do you notice the bees in your garden:

each one is hard at work pollinating the plants

returning later, when they hope there’ll be more of the sweet nectar

for them to bring to the hive? Do you wonder

where they are through the winter months

when the temperature drops to freezing

and the rains come in over the hills

calmly spreading out, raining down

the dreams they’ve collected from up north?

The neighborhood seems luminous today, as the television tells us of

invasions around the world, people fleeing their homes and carrying

everything with them in the night brightened by the explosions overhead.

Africa roils with a thunder not heard in the suburban streets of America,

while India and Pakistan face each other, with nuclear weapons, still.

But the sky is clearing and the sun warms the afternoon

to a crisp golden brown, and the eggrolls at the corner shop taste good, too.