"Still In Dreamland"
Still in Dreamland,
I stumble out of bed
and with eyes half open,
spot my new kettle for tea.
Brighter than a Gravenstein apple,
just shy of AstroTurf,
it was eager to make a good impression.
I set the kettle to boil and expect
a polite whistle,
a demure signal
that water is transformed by fire.
From another room I wait,
patiently, and
still in Dreamland,
I hear a strange invocation
percolating in my kettle.
It starts as quietly as zebras
grazing in Kenya.
A lone drum calling
Spirit to assist in living,
one
beat
at
a
time.
The call grows,
a great meshing of
bass, tone, and slap,
fanning out like zebras
racing across the savannah.
From the other room
I am still waiting, still wondering
which world
I am in . . .
August 2016
