annual report
The peaches are done for the year
there aren't all that many peaches
but they’re sweet and well-formed
the apple-pear tree is heavy with fruit
and treats me daily with fresh fruit
the lemon tree mocks me (I think)
like an unruly teenager
watering the garden and a hummingbird hovers
and watches me (I think)
I speak to it —friendly stuff—
but the little green bird makes no reply
I aim the watering hose straight up at the sun
and watch through the spray as a rainbow forms
I’m measuring my life
with the little fruit that I grow and why not
James Lee Jobe
My father, your game was quite evil.
Your clothes were sleek, dapper,
and you were trim, lean, well groomed,
and as smooth as polished steel.
Your cologne was velvet and silk,
and your voice was a rich chocolate.
When you walked, it was slow, sexual,
like a foreign dance, and you moved
through a room in such a manner
that every woman had to notice you.
There was no way to avoid you.
Were they married? Young? Old? Slender?
Round? Well heeled? Dirt poor?
Things like that never mattered at all.
They were women, the nest of desire,
they were just a game to be played,
and if you could speak to them,
dance with them, drink with them --
That is how your game began.
And the game didn't end until dawn.
James Lee Jobe
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James
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