A lady bug strolls across the top of my computer monitor.
I can’t tell if its pronouns are she/her or he/him.
Maybe it took gender studies in college, and it’s nonbinary.
Gnats flail in vain against my apartment window screens;
I imagine a few hot-headed ones are swearing.
A red-bellied woodpecker taps a tune on a nearby tree outside.
I think it’s an oldie, maybe Knock on Wood from 66 by Eddy Floyd.
The guppies in my aquarium swim happily going nowhere.
I think they’re hedonists living for today partying the night away.
The ceiling fan spins like a planet rotating in the cosmos;
I imagine an asteroid striking it and blasting it out of orbit.
In a reverie I find myself thinking of how in a perfect world
I would have been with the sweet looking, sweet sounding
woman who sang It’s Gonna Take a Lotta Love.
Bob Boyd
