patterns

he just turned 41 years old today, and
he found a message stuck between his
storm door and his back door.
this is what the message said.
**
FROM YOUR NEIGHBOR--
yes, i know that you are a sexy guy, and
i know that you know that i'm a sexy guy, too.
when i stand naked masturbating in
front of my uncovered window at
night, i know that you watch me.
yep, i'm good-looking, 23 yrs old,
blond, with great skin, and i'm
just a sexual machine in terms
of that's pretty much all i think
about. sex, i mean. you're
what? 45? 50?  i know
that's older than me, and
some folks would say that's
too old, but jeez
i think you're hot.
if you want to do something
about all this, take this
note, turn it over, write
something nice on it,
and put it between
my own storm door and
my own back door, ok?
looking forward to
well,
you.
**
so.  the ducks that
live in this neighborhood
walked around in the 41-yr-old's yard
and left eggs on his grass.
eggs. just kinda scattered 'em
around. the 41-yr-old saw 'em do it.
those ducks laid eggs on his lawn,
and in no particular pattern.
**
it's one of those days
when no matter what choices
a guy makes, his ears burn,
and his teeth taste funny.
**
it's a good note, though.
**
duck eggs--do you scramble
them, or what? and aren't
the yolks really REALLY orange,
instead of the more
chicken-traditional yellow?
**
sunsets increase in magnitude
until they're practically
fireballs, waiting to
eat the universe.
**
well. maybe
once.
or twice.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem first appeared in Thieves Jargon, March 19, 2009.)