Squares and Spoons

Been playing around with this for some time...not sure if its right yet. No introduction or background to what this about for Bob since he is right about telling people what my work is about. It should speak for itself.

Squares and Spoons


Think, think of ways to fill in the squares
That lay on my summer calendar. They are white,
They don’t forget their sunscreen on days where
The weather channel says the UV index is high.
The scorched violet porch is now a breeding ground
For generic electric guitar riffs and wondering
About that guy who played the spoons on his
Knees during every childhood assembly.

Of course we are all trying to live but
Does anybody have squares leaking ink
Into next week’s Tuesday or around
The eleven of tomorrow like a spoon?
That would make me jealous like a Friday
That doesn’t have the thirteenth penned to it.
Even though when was the last time anything
Exciting happened to one of them?

I’m one to believe that these squares leak into
Our slumbers if they remain gray all day.
One in particular struck me like lightning.
Everyone was there that I ever laid eyes upon,
Especially two that I wished I could again.
And there you sat next to me, by some pond,
In some field that had no perpetual meaning to me.
It was natural though, hand in hand, perfect.
Like the two spoons that man played on my head.

Numbers fall and proliferate from the sky
The crescents of partially filled moons
That I dare say resemble wooden spoons.
Meant to mix up the recipe of the unknown
I dabble and taste a hint of your skin
I swallow, and your face follows.
Watch time crawl along a timeline like it should.
Could you be there in twenty years?
Listening to my stories about childhood and
All that doesn’t make too much sound?
Like the lines around the squares abound.

I question why reality always seems real
But never really when we want it to be.
I wait now for the common day’s Edison
To come along and give me something
That can kick me twenty squares into next month.
Now wouldn’t that make the fluorescent lightbulb
Squirm in its socket with jealousy?
The feeling forks get when I try to play
Them to sound like that man’s two spoons.
Or how a triangle was chosen to be an instrument
Rather than the more complicated square.