Things fall or drift
or climb up into a poem
depending on someone to notice and
scoop them into the basket of the poem
they belong in no matter
that they are squirming like a bunch
of puppies or toddlers or
worms for that matter who also
squirm though not so adorably
And this? This is a poem where
I want you to picture puppies.
One straggler gently tucked
back into the poem without
Drama and by “Drama” I mean
to say Shakespearian actors on
a stage, not what happened in
homeroom which is what the
giggling 12-year-olds thought
I meant another moment I knew
would get scooped up into
a poem, someday.
Puff Of Smoke Poems 