the dandelions came in,
marching through the field,
up the driveway,
through the front door,
demanding to be seen,
to be heard,
but i don’t know what the dandelions
want, but they look awfully nice
while yelling at me
a spider sits outside of my garage,
reading william s. burroughs,
while smoking a cigarette,
and i want to ask it to leave,
but i never paid attention when the science teacher
went over arachnology,
so it might be one of those mean spiders
that spits in my face, or even puts its cigarette out on me
sometimes i think i’m a bit of a cliche,
but then i think about what’s come before me,
and i realize,
well, maybe that wouldn’t be such a shame,
or perhaps i would be only so lucky
to be yet another cliche
Fred Aiken Writing 