every box

Call me the ‘Cracker Jack Kid’ today. A surprise in every box.

Like this poem:

just red

The morning greets me – 

a cardinal on the lawn. 

He gives me a long look, 

longing, perhaps, 

for some brotherhood. Then, 

for no reason beyond flying, 

he lifts up, 

up through the breeze. 

“Ain’t nothing but red,” 

I swear I heard him sing. 

“Red’s all I got.” 

While I think, 

It’s more than enough. 

Bro.

So much more.

All this happens, 

in Missouri…