99poems/3rdqtr/nursery

On a Sunday afternoon
in the dog days of
summer, I wind my
way home, stopping at
nurseries. Looking for
inspiration, I tell my-
self. But when I come
upon a nursery with
no shade or breeze,
and only pebble paths
to annoy my sandaled
feet, I hightail it
out of there,
weary with effort,
eager to flee
the places where failure
has been met.

8/1/99