TO EACH THEIR OWN PUZZLE

In the sometimes
frozen chatter
underneath midnight's
dripping bladder

efficiently spreading
another's honey oiled
madness of movement

onto a beaded cradle
I followed
footsteps
so easily cushioned

by last year's lies.

They wore their grins
and approbations
as easily as my female
bitch slurps her gruel.

Her pups slurping
her distended tit
biology like flowers
leaning into the sun.

It is spring here.
Buttons are opened.
The courts recessed.
Open preening
is a sport that few
do well at.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2018