Fool

About the tarot trumps, masters claim, the strongest

is the fool.

                        This morning, when a long-eared nut

confabulated out from my fingers into long, long grass,

away I flew! Oh no – my car – won’t start – the time! Come on!

Old melancholy whacked me hard inside like a pillow fight

and pity wrapped me in cloaks – like a sad, old clown

Andrew would laugh! In front of engineer, red king or purple pope

he’d use a fool’s strategy;

                                                dance or smile,

hugging forces – like a yellow rose

exuding the garden for a while,

innocent and knowing – nothing – zero- footloose,

free and funny, stranger, stronger stuff – more like – inside,

deeply inside – out.