Palm Sunday

not many tall palms in this part of the peninsula,
which makes you wonder why so many new ones are planted,
as if history is something written on the label of a beer bottle,
under the Surgeon General’s warning,
and that any day now
these waves are going to be silenced.

Palm Sunday —
two rows of empty beer bottles
beside the sink

history is the father of regret
bastard child of a night of debauchery
and isn’t it easy to deny the unintentional;
isn’t it easy to forget you, the flesh of my flesh.