/ Tanka

Late Spring Tanka 2018

Near Hawthorne. (4)

The cottonwood seeds
embed into my buzzed hair,
stick to my head sweat.
I walk past a hot dumpster;
its smells mingle with pollen.

A pink recliner
on a round, bright green floor mat,
next to a garden.
It's stained in the middle, right
where an ass would have been, once.

It's already hot
like when the ash flies come out
and get in my eyes.
Hopefully this year, no kids
decide to burn a forest down.

A brusque wind rolls in,
rustling branches and blossoms,
and then finding me.
I would be grateful if not
for the pollen covering me.

Nothing by Comparison

I spit a loogie
onto a nearby tree trunk,
and try not to scratch.
I think of cuckoos singing,
of blood and wysteria.

Nick Giampietro

Nick Giampietro

Nick graduated from Portland State University with a degree in Japanese Literature and a minor in English, and works as a Software Engineer in Portland. He lives with his wife, son, and dog-of-a-cat.

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