At the Martin House


Near the senior citizen home in Fowler

saw a family get-together at the Martin house

Many Martins chatted, chirped, peeped at the top of their lungs

on the roof of their house

on the second floor, wrap-around balcony

on the first floor, wrap-around balcony

They gazed down on me walking past

Talked about me with each other

until I unlocked the car remotely

and the car chirp disrupted their cozy gathering

scattering them all over the blue sky



Out of the Ordinary Barnacles


West of Wichita, large, brown, mud barnacles

form close together along the outer sides of bridges

with dark open mouths facing traffic

No ocean waves lap or plunge around the bridges

just the constant surge of wind, dust, exhaust, rain

Clustered birds’ nests, glued to the cement

sheltered from the elements

Land versions of the real creatures

attached to beach rocks, piers, and ship bottoms