Granite blazes on cemetery hill, 
where sun promises resurrection, the breeze
keeps expectations cool and robins, returned
from Daytona, wonder what the fuss is about

Two plumbers survey the reservoir,
smoke cigarettes and scratch their heads;
the annual northern thaw brought little
to slake our thirst and cover jagged rocks

and they are worried.  But not the joggers 
who slap sneakers on the asphalt path;
Canadian geese complain about the temperature
and the water level, but migrants count

for little in the new world order.
These geese can't go home;
they float on the Jesuit's reservoir, 
contemplate cardinal sins.

In the far corner of the park
an anorexic teenager basks 
in the summer sun,
her bones make a gleaming tent;
the glare would blind all beaus,
but she's alone on her towel.

And on Orkney Road, an hydrangea flag
is fading, only stars and stripes are left,
united we stand in the windows 
of frightened Arab students. 

Granite blazes on cemetery hill, 
where sun promises resurrection, the breeze
keeps expectations cool and robins, returned
from Daytona, wonder what the fuss is about.