where we deposit all sins of excess,
failed solutions, self-lies to find

their next hatching. You absorb each one
without judgment, our grandmother buddha,

tenderly ignoring the endless missteps
worked by this scrum of larkers.

We spin on, sneak your cookies,
refuse to sit still. Through it all,

you maintain your meditative hour,
at the struck time glance to confirm

that the last stuttering imp
has made it into bed by night’s fall.

For my favorite and ever willing resale shop, the Brown Elephant.