Cool Underside, a poem

There is a rhythm

To my days that

Leaves room to stop

See the fat caterpillar

On the cool underside

Of the large tire rim,

The car parked on First

Street, Mary with me

And she doesn’t walk

On, rather she gathers

The caterpillar into the palm of her hand

And deposits the yellow fuzzy beauty

Into a green, leafy garden bush that is

A welcome shelter out of the harsh sun.

Next: Running for Your Life: Routine 66