Overcoming Inertia Martin H. Levinson I’d rather check my email than pen this poem, for I can think of nothing to say and the yard needs mowing, the car needs washing, the tub needs scrubbing and I guess I’ll make myself a cuppa coffee, have a bit of the danish I bought this morning at Briermere Farms, fresh from the oven and the finish of a two-mile stroll by the banks of the Peconic where I watched a vesper sparrow circle lazy in the sky, a cumulus cloud hang low on the horizon, an alice blue kayak sail slowly past a McDonald’s parking lot that abuts the water upon which floated a white plastic coffee lid and two cigarette stubs that seemed horribly out of place in a place where fluke, flounder, and bluefish hail from and swans, geese, and Carolina ducks also call home.
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