Because  I ruffle
more easily than the turtle,
I’m spending today’s sunshine
indoors,
picking my teeth
with the leftover shards
of yesterday’s poem,
flossing out
any subtext I
might have missed
when that
naked guy waded
over to hear my
verse-in-progress and sent
thought’s rumbling
boxcar right
over the side
and into the
river.

(The heavy-eyed reptile didn’t
so much as blink,
neither
at his unsubtle
arousal
nor at my muttered
reading. I
don’t blame him;
the poem wasn’t
half yet done.)