Poem #1: January 1, 2010

A plastic bag flaps from the branches

of the barren tree. Birdlike, it lifts and flutters

like the sentinel of a new decade, an angel, a dove.

Expectantly, I watch from an upstairs window,

hypnotized by its erratic attempts

at flight. The clouds throw

their shadows down and animatedly rush

fast-forward past on the brown screen

of the ground. The sensible thing

would be to go and greet the morning sun,

to rid the yard of the beer cans, the sparklers,

the garbage that clings to it, that has blown in

over night, to start the New Year with my eyes

open and hands busy. To set the bird free—

but, honestly, it could go either way at this point.