Shari Diane Willadson

Robin Days

It was on another day, maybe a robin day;
all the starling days far past and you'd give
anything to see a baby crow.

Maybe a robin day, and you might say it again
and I'd tell you it looks better in brown;
August, the month of sleeping lawnmowers.

You might say it again; we look better in brown;
they would agree, give us the slow horses
named General. Mr. and Mrs., not Bobby and Stacy.

We look better brown. What day was it when we took
our last drink of tight skin and high breasts?
The last wink from a young man: April 5th, 1992.

What day was it when we took the flight South
to sit with the cactus. Our old friends couldn't tell
the difference, couldn't see through our spines.

On the flight South, you gave up your seat
to a window-eyed girl and told her it wasn't
something you couldn't see on another day.

Shari Diane Willadson has been writing for over twenty years. She has been published in The Astrophysicist's Tango Partner Speaks, Moonshade Magazine, Poetry Cafe, and Poetry Magazine. She lives in Washington State, USA, with her husband and daughter.