Like the bottom of a choir robe, round and round
I swing and sway in circles, always aiming for perfect rhythm and pitch.
These circles, like the arches over the bridge that carried us there each
Morning and home each night.
Like walking around, all the way around
the trunks of large trees older than you and me combined.
Circles from cellular networks, ringing round our routine
Calls to mom. Our random and rare calls to remembrances.
Round-robin written just so we can’t tell who sang first,
but eventually all names are on the petition.
Circular trips round our golden shining beam of life,
Each circle brings us back to our fall.
Spirals radiating up and spilling out flowing down and
Finally, fed back through again, in orbits that never end.
Spoon circles the honey into my tea…
as darkness now circles round to the back of this day.
Circles begging for lines, for without them
It is a never ending tale.
Wedding rings, class rings, and ring around the rosie,
Endings quickly merge with beginnings.
There are rings on my collars and now on my cuffs,
The beautiful launderette has run away. I must now choose
The perfect washing cycle to remove all these stains.
A circle for the stone I chuck into the pond, sending ringlets to the rim.
A circle, lips that tell the tales of joy and woe.
The smoothie in the blender spinning fast or slow.
The amazing Printer’s feed assembly circles round so well.
Poems and medical bills, it prints them just the same.
Baker’s rolling pin. Must be careful not to roll too long or the
Biscuits will bake hard.
Tires on my truck help me take waste to the dump.