re Joyce

Six Sixteen

It’s Bloomsday in the Northeast Kingdom
and “Yes,” he says to himself, silently, sitting
beside a thousand acres of smooth and open
water, counting the seconds the loons can stay
submerged, wishing for even the very slightest
breeze to blow away the biting flies, determined
to wait out the last few days of a coolish Spring.

And “Yes,” he says to himself, Ulysses climbing
into the silver pick-up, contemplating the long
road home, the trials and travails, longing for
simpler destinations, fewer and smaller detours;
“Yes I will,” he thinks, buckling up and promising
himself to make it home again one more time,
to see her at last (Yes!) before he can finally sleep.

BLOOMSDAY

2 thoughts on “re Joyce

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s