Caught

I'd been suffering a bad cold

just lying around like a feverish lizard

but after two days got tired of it

& ventured out to a poetry meeting

with a couple of strange conglomerations

of lines intended to be wryly humorous

or nobly Stoic, maybe you know me

maybe you don't, well,

probably you don't

This is so because I barely know myself

which is why I needed that meeting

to get some inspiration from old friends

even though they write the same themes

again & again

& that's part of them

part of their particular appeal

but then

when it's my turn

& this could just be my impression

well it obviously must be my impression

but after my turn there is general approval

but often someone or other of them

remains gazing at a ceiling tile

or tapping a pen on a notepad

but nobody asks a question

because it is generally assumed

that I have once again

skirted around my central theme

as playfully as usual

using funny words

juxtaposing concepts

like Pink Floyd coinciding

with white truffle searches

among the shredded coconut

that packs my head & a penchant

for supernumerary avatars

& a chorus of dubious laughter

Anyway I took a walk around the gardens

& snapped the shot above

the fading camellia

the honeybee

but after such riches, such luxury

a white mist, a cloud, lay on the surface

of the local bayou, & a lazy plume of fog

encircled a bare cypress tree

& I missed my camera, not to mention

adequate safety to pull over out of traffic

open the window & inhale that view

by the time I got back, the mist had cleared

the bare cypress tree looked winter dead

instead of about to ascend to heaven

just plain, casting spiky shadows now

around the cormorants' favorite haunt

So I was caught feeling sad to have missed

that opportunity, what might have been,

what was that never had been, nor will it ever

be the same again.