The beast

In the spring

After the swallows return to Capistrano

The air conditioner returns to the window by my desk.

The big-bottomed beast,

Its face squashed between sill and frame,

Waggles its behind

Six stories above the sidewalk

Where cell-yakking striders

And hopping third graders

And splay-footed joggers

And stoic dogwalkers,

Five leashes in hand,

Court doom.

This living organism

Joins our micro-ecosystem,

Delivering wisps of chilly breath

Through slotted teeth

During late-spring snows;

Striking a percussive beat

As the rain pings off its back,

The way my brother drums a solo

On his stomach

To the song on the radio.

He cuts my light in half,

He swells our bill like a snarfing houseguest,

He shelters pigeons,

Who gather in the shade of his overhang

And coo from their cloak of invisibility.

And come July,

I love this monstrous beast

With unseemly sweaty gratitude.