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.