Wednesday, March 4, 2026

OLD HAND

There is, in this life,
a kind of strangeness 

so pervasive as to turn 
innocuous—

an eerie glory 
so often repeated 

that, even in its transience, 
it doesn't bear hoarding. 

Picture the proverbial 
overflowing bowlful 

of tropical citrus 
on a Midwestern table—

and tell me
we're not experts

at gorging 
on the foreign 

while ignoring 
the incongruous.