Belmont Overture (Poem of Eight A.M.) It’s about settling down and settling in and trying not to settle for,
about three miles from the urban core, where the not-quite-wild bald turkey, looking so lost
and inquisitive next to the stop for the 74, peers into the roseless rosebush, up at the pointless oar
hung above one townhouse’s swept steps, and the U.S. and floral and nautical flags flaunt their calm semaphore.
Walking past them, today, with our stroller, we note as we pass the wreath of real twigs on our next-door neighbor’s door
and beside it another, not sold in any store, made of pipecleaners and plastic oak leaves. [...]