A new poem, silliness

After Work


Paisley fractals of clouds wisp across the sky.
Two gulls, a thousand miles from the nearest salt water,
wheel on summer updrafts.
The heat of the day seeps from the deck boards
into my back:
too lazy to retrieve a wicker chair from the garage.
What conjunction of humidity, temperature, and wind
permits the creation of pointy fractal clouds?


I praise and bless the conjunction of flavours
in my tequila fruit punch,
spiked with sparkling juice imported from Italy,
which is surrounded by salt water.
"Fractal clouds" ...
the phrase bangs on my brain until I go inside and write it down.