Red, white, black,
sometimes in passing we chat,
swap news of the neighborhood
—who got SOD, who got Covid.
We sing to them.
Oldies. Breezy days
they swing along
in hardwood harmony.
We wear masks.
They employ woodpeckers.
My blue jeans run faster.
Oak genes age slower.
The end may come sudden.
Red, white, black,
we tease in our chat—
who’ll go first?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Joe Cottonwood lives and writes in La Honda. His new book is Random Saints – Poems of kindness for an unkind age. joecottonwood.com