The Machinery of a Good Bridge

I am still tired and fighting a cold.  Let me record some items, without the pressure to make one unified post.  Maybe it will be a poem in the end:

--The president cancels a summit, no need to talk, no need for a Nobel Peace Prize, no need to travel to Singapore.

--I dream of labyrinths I've never walked before.

--A tropical disturbance in the Gulf--and so it begins.  Again

--A cold claws at my throat.  I didn't have anything important to say anyway.

--A man who looks like Vladimir Putin with a crew cut takes pictures of the underside of the bridge.  Is he a terrorist or someone who appreciates the machinery of a good bridge?

--I thought I was buying a box of wing nuts for $5.  I bought a $5 wing nut.  It doesn't look significantly better than the cheaper wing nuts.

--We battle an infestation of mosquitoes.  We have moved the bug zappers inside.

--I've invited a robot into our home.  It vacuums until it gets stuck under the cedar chest.

--The hydrangeas are much needier flowers here in the tropics than they are in the gardens of the Carolinas.

--I want fairy cakes and champagne, but I'm a sensible girl.  I eat the sturdy beans that you were saving to plant in the hopes that you would get giant stalks.

--The student thinks I am a vet, but my English Ph.D. will not help her with her questions about x-rays and skeletons.

--There is a volcano of grief and rage bubbling under the surface of our society.  How great the wreckage of these men.