A Toast   Let’s face it: love is weird. Oh, to be sure, it’s all those other things, too — hearts a-flutter, zinnias, chocolate, sex, a hand when your zipper’s stuck — all that and so much more. What you might call weird, though, is the sneaky, slow, seductive way that love goes underground, tunnels under your city walls and knows everything you know and more, sometimes sounds phony when it should be sincere, or sad, or happy — it doesn’t like should, it doesn’t leave a message every time it’s mad or when it just needs to talk — love’s a puzzle, vagabond, stowaway, and it’s seared ever deeper in your heart: love is weird.                                                             to Lizzy & Steph     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont June 2024