Click here to listen to David Tucker read this poem. There’s no charge for walking to the rail fence where the ants have quit their jobs
and started a colony of good-for-nothings
who idle on their backs all day
singing show tunes.
Out here, yawns come loose
from your intentions
and go off on their own.
And the next thought
takes you like a dog in happy weather.
Nights are cool with a little wind.
Parked on either side of the street—
dusty, forgetful cars
that haven’t moved in days.
