By William Doreski
Stretching myself for the day
I feel like a bit of seafood
slopping naked in a tidepool.
Am I recalling evolution
with its endless stabs in the dark?
Am I simplifying like a scallop?
What of my secret compartments
crammed with dank scenarios?
The fresh snow at the window
blazes with January sunlight.
The ocean is miles away, brooding
over its losses. Today I’ll dress
in a crude but civilized manner,
leaving nothing of note exposed.
William Doreski lives in Peterborough, New Hampshire. He has taught at several colleges and universities. His most recent book of poetry is Cloud Mountain (2024). His essays, poetry, fiction, and reviews have appeared in many journals.