he sits
on the throne
like an
underweight Buddha

pondering
how water
can get stuck
in your
throat

admiring
the brave
     and
scattered April
tulips

grape hyacinths
appearing
like invasive
weeds

even in the dead spots

the exploratory bumble
bees

standing dandelion
stems
     headless
     defiant
     impossible
     to mow
     down

[ he writes

poetry
while timing
the rice and
waiting
to fry the
fish
     (add more
     water to
     the rice)
]

he coughs
his throat
clears
     but
who is
there
     to
speak to


so he
sits there
like his foreskin
     
     empty

contents
withdrawn