Please Know You've Cheered Me
It's windy in Iowa.
I wrote this letter weeks ago.
The leaves are packing their bags.
I've a poor tooth.
I hate it when dentists talk about 'bone loss.'
I don't want to become some gap-toothed old fucker.
Yet how they can spit!
There's wonderful news after all.
I bring it up the hill to tell it to the mad oak.