It’s easy to forget but there
Can be a lot of wetness where
The sun escapes the summer sky
(We’re driving up the coast is why)
On a northbound bus
On a bright, hot afternoon
On the right-hand side
A thousand miles ago, we three–
A spider and my wife and me–
Left Salem in a minivan
And headed south. We had a plan–
My wife and I; we hadn’t polled
The spider, who’d, in turn, not told
Us we’d be having company–
Accommodating two, not three,
So when our major chord was filled
My wife was, let’s say, less than thrilled,
But probably her shock was matched
By little Charlotte, who was snatched
Abruptly from her rumbled seat
And lowered gently to the street
A climate change away from home.
When restless spiders pine to roam
And scuttle over foreign flora
Like a polylegged Dora
Do they know that they’ll alight
Just halfway through a roundtrip flight?
Charlotte’s in La Mesa now,
Regaling flies with tales of how
She left her home in Oregon,
In which she’ll nevermore again
And hit the California street
With only fearsome fangs and moxie–
Plus a buttload of epoxy–
And now look at her! Oh, wait,
They can’t: The head’s what Charlotte ate
Right off the bat, which then ate Charlotte.
FADE OUT on a sunset scarlet
And a flying mammal’s squeak and
Tiny belch: My SoCal weekend.
This local moon’s just not the same
It only partly fills the frame
Where ours at home goes wall-to-wall
This moon is not like that at all
It’s small and pale, more –ish than white–
The face inside’s not smiling right
And where’s the mouse would eat that cheese?
I’d like another moon here, please.
Dogs who know you’ve been away
Will celebrate the happy day
Of your return; though cats may, too,
They show it by ignoring you.
Soggy locals think
We brought northwest weather south
If they only knew
If the summit’s dry
We’ll be there tomorrow night;
Otherwise, next year.