by Jnana Hodson

few high boil-in-the-makers
sprout distinctive
thirty-mile-long park beards

doubling as an aqueduct presidential
candidate eyes picket-fence
reptiles in this presumably effortless

quarantine I no longer misunderstand
an old lodge as any scale of community
what I gained now snakes into whistling cattails

home, work, marketplace
medium referent? paper

swirled overhead, everybody you know
accuses Hollywood of corrupting
our skunk cabbage springtime

I’m not a Californian mocked by my beloved
true, she’s not for everyone
no matter what she insists, the cockroach
traps go first in the kitchen, right next
to the inflatable three-person raft

magazine, radio, TV, the movies or books
all built over a swamp, you know


That’s what Woodpecker said.