The Maynard
Spring 2016

Alison Braid

On Some Good Days

Mornings raise themselves up on stilts
and stalk away. There is a tractor,
a dog in dandelions. A stranger
releases every dollar store
balloon in the city and blots out
the rain. Whitecaps swallow
the shoreline. A chestnut drops,
a mass exodus of crows. Rubber
spools out behind the pick up,
your hand easy on the e-brake.
All my little hunches turn out
wrong. Everyone carries a cake.