The Ostrich Colony

by Jeffrey Cyphers Wright

Born to rhyme: you all hot for posterity
and me in hot pursuit of your posterior.
Even alone we are not wee.

Japonica spills buttons in prim rows.
Virginia bluebells ring the river path.
Elsewhere freedom fighters flail.

Our hour on the promenade we hover,
only just here but furthering ever
a cascading effort that finds us here.

“So, you want to do it again ?”  Sure.
Practice makes us purr.  Then
black lentils and tarragon for dinner.

Looking underground for what matters.
Time leaves holes to stick our heads in.