dinosaurs

 

Paul Simon and the Africans thump

from ear to ear through my head;

coffee the color of streams in flood

pulsates like those water glasses in Jurassic Park

each time my foot taps to the beat:

continuous concentric circles

to mimic my own energies . . .

dinosaurs have breached the fence.

                Beyond the storefront windows the

                enduring blue of summer holds the world

                in place for one more day, not yet noon,

                pure robin blue to be washed grey later by heat.

                Everyone would like to write all day in

                refrigerated air, but then life

                would be too easy . . .

                they think.

Easy. . .

The word rolls from my thoughts

while writing, occasionally glancing

at the shimmer of summer women -- 

sparkly haired and sunny  circulating about my

island of refuge, casting oblique shy smiles

capable of keeping the raptors  at bay

a few moments more.