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Adrenalin
It's best I put down my pen now. I should give the trees A deep watering, I should hunt the undersides of leaves For the snails That have been eating the pansies, I should butter a slice of bread, I should keep everything low-keyed. I sat down to write of adrenalin. In the past month, two climbers Lost their grip on El Capitan, A parachutist Pulled the wrong cord Just before she hit a field of wheat, Six bodies of rafters Were wedged among rocks in the Kings River. It was all for fun, see? It was a way to take A sluggish pond of blood And make it race like the Kings. I should put down my pen. The trees have been dry too long, The snails must be stopped, And I keep seeing faces.