My childhood house
was built on a hill side—
terraced walls observable
out the dining room
picture window.
Sunset was never visible—
only the buckets of blood red sky
way above the horizon.
A bee tried to apply
its definition of god
to the window glass
as it buzzed furiously
to get at the centerpiece vase
with its bright bouquet.
I found the bee asleep
on the windowsill
the next morning.
I lost my yellow Tonka dump truck
somewhere in a sandbox
construction project
when a catastrophic landslide
buried several toy workmen
we never found.
copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney
Umflop 