My My-ness

Share? I can, my strings
with others if in tune.
Paperbacks, no problem.

Heart, I hope, though like
the brain, just ten-percent used.
Won't, for example, my session

with sloppy bass, my sandwich
with hornets, my house
with TV. My time.

On your life,
my best cup.
Tra-la-la, earplugs wherever I go.

Not my afternoon dream,
gold in the cottage,
before the return of the bears.

"All this could be yours," says the wooer,
hand-feeding me herb-roasted dinner.
"It already is," my answer.

One cut, the other choose—
I still want the slice with more nuts.
I always pick the baby chair—so close to the ground,

plus I like how it squeezes my butt.