By Sylvia Byrne Pollack
For Yaffa
It’s time in mid-summer
to think about nothing,
turn from ideas,
make ice cream instead,
float on a raft of popsicle sticks.
You will know when to get up,
wield pencils like chopsticks,
tease apart vagabond thoughts
meandering through your mind.
When bedraggled ideas knock
at your door, don’t turn them
away. Like your mother before you
give handouts to hoboes –
a sketch of a cat will be
etched on your gate.
Words will come tramping
into your dreams, vamp
your domesticated mind
with rumbles, a jungle
utterly outside your safe picket fence.
Copyright Pollack 2012