the optimist
by verbalizing what can go wrong

the idealist
by being practical and grounded

the romantic
by writing these words in secret

that feeling i get
from hammering
three-inch nails
into loose two-by-fours
slowly solidifying
into a shaded deck

that goes away
when my four-foot-eleven
seventy-four-year-old father
laughs and nudges me aside
after witnessing one too many
bent nails and muttered oaths

at least he still needs me
to help carry the lumber

i refuse to let work
keep me from writing
my poem today

i just may not
have control over
when i post it

job interviews
are all about
how well
you can sell
even if
you aren’t
going into
sales

my favorites reflect
all wavelengths of light
like blinding snowbanks
at sunrise
or cumulus clouds
sprinkled across blue sky
bright and cool

except at their centers
where the warmth
of golden sun
seeps through

fuck that
it is what we make it
and what we need to make
is enough noise
so those who only see
what is
will start to hear
what can and should be

when i wasn’t looking
three little clouds
stacked atop one another
snuck their way into
my clear sky
blown in by
a northwestern wind

while i turned again
to write these lines
they were whisked away
leaving behind
that first cloudless sky
only now with a small
paler patch of blue

my google searches always start
with something innocuous
like a hovering bee?
that identifies the hoverfly

that leads to admiration
for its batesian mimicry
of bees and wasps
with body of banded
black and yellow

and appreciation for
its pollinating habits
and skillful wings
constantly adjusting to wind
to hover in place

but then I follow links
for words like myiasis
before stopping
and being thankful
that the lovely hoverfly
has flown off
to hopefully
pollinate some flowers
and not lay eggs