School is a Sculpture Called Soft

I'd been growing sod under manholecovers
& planning to flip them when the lights change.
This was where ziploc baggies of pollen
burst off trees like a quicksand of rust.
I'm uncomfortable with the pollen in my pants,
though I dumped it in there before my walk.
I wanted to wade in it & wave to the neighbors.
This was where the neighbors pushed pianos
onto their frontporches & planted flowers in them.
When I put toddlers on tree branches & leave them
stashed there. It's harder to talk over the pianos.
My quilts made of the grass spread beneath me.
Everyone else calls it my yard.

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Copyright © 2011 Daniel Coudriet All rights reserved
from Bateau
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission