In the mornings we’re in the dark;
even at the end of June
the zucchini keep on the sill.
Call Grandmother for advice
and she says O you know
I used to grow so many things.
Hair appears on my chest in dreams;
I back the car over a soft, large object.
The paperboy comes to collect
with a pitbull. Ring Grandmother
and she says Well you know
death is death and none other.