Trees conceal the maroon Expedition
as tires crunch across the red stoned driveway.
I get out, wearing tight blue jeans
and a tan lambskin jacket.
I pull a knife from my right boot
and slit air out of all four black tires.
This time, I say to myself, I’m going to stay awhile.
In front of my blue-gray mountain chalet
a white dress dances on the deck in the wind
that I left out to dry two years before.
On the side of the small wooden house,
a squirrel scampers through a pile of
crinkled orange, yellow, and brown leaves,
reminding me that I haven’t played outside in awhile.
In the middle of browning fern, a red cardinal
bathes in a cracked green birdbath
full of tree bits and free water.
I twitch, startled by the sound of that old
chipmunk running to his black drainpipe
home with no mortgage.
I rip my clothes off and undo my coarse bun.
My dark fingers move crazily through my hair
freeing my scalp from vain tensions.
My brown body scurries naked on all fours
across swollen tree roots, dirt, and dead grass,
chasing behind a wild, crazy-eyed raccoon.
Shawn R. Jones