Meandering/ Maundering

by A. N. Irvano


In these warm days
everyone’s
fists
are a little looser
not quite as willing
to brawl or yell
groan or grunt
—even better—
as the days get longer
the air stops moving
holds the cologne of
spanish men
joining conversations
smells travel
grilled meats
hot spices
what you want to smell
carried longer and farther
on atoms of oxygen
that must be bigger
to carry that
many aromas
on doorsteps people talk
people that just days ago
were huddled in
their own
massive
massive spheres
are saying
everything they know
to one another
with no expectations
no hidden guilts
walking away smiling
elated moods
buoyed ideals
in the warm days

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