Down by Marc Rahe

the tub drain, the disposal,
down in the kitchen garbage bag,
the microcosmic crawl
and flagellate in fecundity
rich as the garden

where wild onion
has taken over,
spread even beyond
the sidewalk. Their
slender stalks topped
with life-treasure
the bees bother
in the sunlight,
in the humid

and pungent air.

While my fan oscillates.

While my sweaty chest is bare of you.