Mocco Wollert: ‘Do I miss him’ and ‘Crows flying into my garden’

Do I miss him

when some raunchy western singer
steams up the air waves and I see
him and me in that dark joint
we loved so much, making one drink last.
Forgetting all about to-morrow,
our bodies taking on movements
of their own, heat flicking
from him to me dancing,
each touch an ecstasy drug
without need of syringes or pipes.
Our needs cosmic magnets
pulling us together—you bet I do.

Mocco Wollert

Crows flying into my garden

Like gladiators taking over the arena,
their shrill voices calling each other names
until finally the monotone sounds trail off
like flat echoes, ebbing away into
the ocean of green lapping at my window.

Jessica loves their belligerent cries;
she runs in circles through the garden,
imitating them, her own stubborn nature
finding at last untamed expression—
that child will be trouble one day.

The birds have no respect for anyone,
Darth Vaders, boldly escaped
from arcane Mervyn Peake fantasy books
they swing above the world’s reality,
unconcerned that they are not alone.

Mocco Wollert

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