The Fiddleback

poem by Chris Siteman

Staring at our neighbor’s lawn as though
tomorrow’s enough, & voices
on the web blah-blah everything’s all
right so long as our best self shows Monday—

The neighbor rides his mower, sun or rain,
each blade-length cropped the same.

How will we arrive where we’ve never been
when the road paved is so many wrong turns,
head-on collisions & we’re still here
by the luck of the fall, the sheer sheer of it all—