In Your Face

Goofing, long ago,
a good friend and I
blew smoke-filled bubbles
with a child's bubble-pipe.

Big ones.

Wide ungainly wobbling Pearls,
they were.  Each one floated in our
air aquarium for a time.
Our living-room was tiny,
low ceilings, a warren or
hutch for people like us.

Sometimes too I made poems
for myself, or for someone else
to know me by.  A fine aroma
fills a good poem, I think,
smoke like incense drifting
in its own sphere, amongst
friends, evading in a whoosh
any too aggressive a gesture...

Pop! in your face.

Copyright © Jim Michmerhuizen 1994