An interconnected family of supernovas burning bright in the night sky: take a moment, reach out—join us.
Hard rain this afternoon with drops so big
they came down white. Just sprinkling now: I see
the dimpling puddles on the deck. It’s reruns
of The Office on TV, and Creed’s
just cracked a joke about some sprouts he’s grown:
“nutritious, but they smell like death.” Like all
that’s wet outside: the blood-brown mulch, the spruces
shaggy as the mastodons that went
extinct 12,000 years ago. The brain-haze
from this beer, my third, has blurred the data,
darkened passing time. A retro vibe
tonight, for sure, with Pink Floyd in one ear,
and Thumper, Dad’s old pasta pot, now rocking
on the stovetop. Bubbles rising, just
to die. The same old fears. Wish you were here.
About the Author
Thomas Zimmerman (he/him) teaches English, directs the Writing Center, and edits The Big Windows Review (https://thebigwindowsreview.com) at Washtenaw Community College, in Ann Arbor, Michigan, USA. His poems have appeared recently in Pulsebeat Poetry Journal, Sixpence Society, and Yellow Mama. His latest book is the poetry chapbook The House of Cerberus (Alien Buddha Press, 2022).