By Nancy Scott
Dedicated to Melba Toast at WDVR
It’s 90 degrees.
I need peanut butter cup ice cream.
I have to listen.
I don’t yet have words for the taste of the Strawberry Moon.
I require a right poem for the road into June.
My fingers and brain are sticky.
I should root for the Phillies.
The old soap opera plays in my head.
My neighbor just brought hot, buttered corn-on-the-cob.
There might be a thunderstorm.
Memorial Day must be well-honored.
I can again scent May white flowers.
My heart might whisper too much.