Not sure why my town smellslike it bathed in patchoulion the morning after Halloween,but the scent dulls my memoryof last night’s dream:Someone was bullying my child.I awoke all grizzly-mama,but now even my coffeetastes like it was brewedat a music festival,so I put on some hippie tunesfor my commute to work,where I’ll start Novemberin a haze of patchouli & peacelove, understanding--letting bullies recede, fade away.
Hello! This is poem number ONE of 30 poems I’ll write in November to benefit the Center for New Americans. If you’re a faithful reader here, you know that in recent months, I’ve been managing far fewer than one poem per day, so this will be a real challenge. I’d be tickled if you’d consider sponsoring my efforts at any amount. Thank you!
My Fundraising Page for 30 Poems In November