He's tired at his piano lesson
His throat is sore C chords in inversions, up and down He asks if the second chords are in F or G Runs his hands through his Thick chestnut hair Plays with an oversized hoodie on Chords up and down Root position Then parallel thirds in octaves "Oh yeah," he says "I remember this one." Oh, okay. He takes correction well. This? Yes. Season's changing in the piano studio before chromatic scales C-B-B flat, try that again Adding in left hand separately Yawns © Doniell Cushman. All Rights Reserved. This poem or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a review.
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He mines with a stick and
Crafts at the table He climbs the wooden ladder Up to a wooden pallet platform His dog is his Wolf, and incidentally Is named Wolfi Like he names every wolf mob Wolfy 1 Wolfy 2 Wolfy 3 He can't craft a sword Daddy made it, then he broke it And the shield was left out in the rain and snow It might have been tossed Visions of creepers Fighting off skeleton bowmen Looking for more resources But we can't get into the garage So he throws the dog's ball and slides down the side of the house © Doniell Cushman. All Rights Reserved. This poem or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a review. He's in his Wellingtons again
The ones with cut out handles Digging into the earth Avoiding the gas line Talking to himself of "crunches" and "Crashes" between Tonka trucks Flying through the air in his grungy hands Soil caked under the fingernails And dried into every pore or crevice "Smash!" he grunts, then sweeps the clods out between his legs For a dusty bum will arise And diggers dig-dig-dig before a "super-crash super-smash" Tsshh! pkow! Smash Smash smash smash Crouched in those Wellies I need a bath just watching him © Doniell Cushman. All Rights Reserved. This poem or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a review. Husband raked the backyard
We created deep set tracks in mud Dog ran through it like it was bat day at Shea Stadium Tore up newly growing grass, Rolled around, boss of the yard Then smiled while leaving pieces of a torn up tennis ball n every cranny of the "lawn" © Doniell Cushman. All Rights Reserved. This poem or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a review. It's rarely this warm in March
So I came outside to sit Threw on my new Baja hoodie And listened to the breeze The birds returning to nest And my six-year-old screaming that he can't start swinging © Doniell Cushman. All Rights Reserved. This poem or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a review. |
AuthorDoniell Cushman, B.A. cum laude Archives
June 2022
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