Broom People
'36 Hudson in the garage,
all sorts of junk in the unattached spare room.
Dishes in the kitchen sink,
new straw for the old broom,
friends who don't have a clue,
well meaning teachers ...
but down in your arms, in your arms,
I am a wild creature.
Floor two-foot-high with newspapers,
white carpet thick with cat hair,
half-eaten gallons of ice cream in the freezer,
fresh fuel for the sodium flares ...
I write down good reasons to freeze to death
in my spiral-ring notebook.
But in the long tresses of your hair,
I am a babbling brook.