2 poems

Meredith mason

A Parade

The seasons in Wisconsin
bewitch and beleaguer
like a long-term relationship,
same old delight
come round again.
If you’ve seen one parade
you’ve seen them all,
then here they come,
bumper crop of flutes this year,
seven across and three rows deep,
enough bass drums
to rattle your spleen.
Some of the kids
just marching along
in the crazy get-up,
gold epaulettes
nudging their ears,
feathers shooting out
the tops of heads,
silver lightning bolts
blazing over hearts.
All of the kids surprised
in their bodies.
Surprised
in their fantastic suits.

Custody

Summer night, walking down the sidewalk,
baby on hip, sun just down, not escaping
a fight exactly, just getting some air, and Robbie, 

a young neighbor, in neon orange Ray-Bans
walks toward us, two friends behind him,
something held out in front of him, he’s

wearing thick leather gloves, and when
he’s close I see it’s a young owl that fell from
the nest. Its mother looms silently on a branch

above the road. The baby owl looks at me
with huge yellow eyes. Robbie smiles proudly,
holds the body away from him.