A goose is a brute
on foot, hungry and violent
and stupid--they stumble
about like little zombies
they hunger for breeeeeeaaaaaaad
Spring obscures us
dying ice cores;
if you stripped me in Winter
for testing
you'd find a miserable huffing
combination of despair and desire
hammered under into a
cold wide anger
I am a different person in warm weather
kinder, eyes wider
slightly thinner
more shallow, more content
I ache less, yearn less
I will take phone calls
I will maintain eye contact
I will smile at your dog
in short, I am less myself
or more, depending
on your opinion
of geese
