Rant: Started A Fire

Started a fire.

My nails
clicking over the keys. My eyes
not clear, my left arm a wee bit
number, my left foot
dragging a wee bit;
I am immune to all that
because of the fire I started.

My President still smoldering,
blue ash in his hair, blubbering
enraged about something or other.
His posse refusing to notice.
His wife ignoring him to take care
of something else; her nails,
her sense of wonder. (Her nails
click as fast as mine, surprisingly so.)
The Congress still sweating him out;
his thugs, his fanatics all trip
the light fantastic in his path
all day, every day. The fire I started
keeps raging or smoldering or doing
some other crackling word or phrase.

Meanwhile I try to put down
the blaze on my arms. Close my eyes
to it. Keep typing. Go back and correct
incorrect words, awful spelling,
sad grammar; it does not matter
how much I try it keeps up;
my brain hurts — can’t you tell
from reading this? I’m getting fuzzy
as I type. Keep typing.

Started a fire and no one pays attention
to the old burning guy who scans the windows
and peeks through the screens toward
what exactly — the white neighbors
walking their dogs, the Black neighbors
with their perfect lawns in Greendale
here near the edge of town?

“Equally at home, equally loved, equally a coming Buddha –“
I tell myself I am that, try to calm down
as the President blubbers, as my hands
don’t feel to grip as much as they did in the past;

started a fire, shrugged it off, started another
and another and just one more
until the fuel runs out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T