Daily Archives: July 15, 2016

A Friendly Reminder From The Protest

Sign a check
you never expect
to be cashed;
take a stand
somewhere your face
can’t be seen, someplace
safe, warm,
and dark; after all,
you’re nothing like the ones
on the front line.
They’d rather be safe too,

and feeling the same,
but safety’s not for everyone,
even if it should be.

If you
are one of those
inclined to hide, 
you should hide,
even if it’s 
behind them; go ahead,
hide

behind them, but
not so close
to their backs
that they
have to worry
about you; 

they wouldn’t want
to mistake you
for what’s in front of them,
and you wouldn’t want that either.

They got this
without you,

without
you back there
safe and sound
and

breathing down
their necks.


USA, July 2016

It’s still early.

Still only beginning to be
unpleasantly hot here.

Still looks to be a bad one for the garden
and the people. 

I have a hose with a problem
called a drought.
I have a political lawn sign
with a problem called
a small matter of 
a war in the streets.

I had a little love for many.
I have turned that into
a lot of love for a few
and the rest can shrivel
or burn or both. I don’t have
time for them — there’s
a small matter of a war and
also a drought.  

I had a bet down on getting out of here
before it got too hot
but I’m a loser and a sore one
at that

so now I have a problem
with a drought and a 
problem with a war
and a political sign and a hose
won’t do me much good — can’t
fly out of here on a sign,
can’t keep a battle off my lawn
with a hose, not anymore.

And it’s still early,
or at least it’s still early in this dry heat
of a summer, early in the skirmishes,
early in this last late show about 
problems with drought 
and war and lost wagers
that it wouldn’t come to this,

and not a drop of cooling in sight.


Tough Going

Originally posted 11/4/2013.

To wake before dawn
is to wrestle
a fat, angry angel
every morning, one
who would prefer 
I stay asleep indefinitely.

We struggle until I put that angel 
into brief submission, then go about
this life where the easy stuff
takes forever to do
and the impossible presents itself
as regularly as church.

Weight and difficulty
are what I know best.
Some of us, it seems,
are born to be
ground underfoot,
born to wear out.

I trust the universe
to get it right,

and when the last of me crumbles,

my remains will serve some purpose,
I’m certain, for that fat and angry angel
who will crush me 
and then lift me
tenderly
from where I’ve mingled with dust.