Politics

I hear a knock

from the cellar

and call on Ego

to answer the door:

“Money for the poor?”

a young man ponders,

“What am I doing here?”

and the door is shut,

hands still warm.

 

I can handle

up to six hundred dollars

at a time,

enough for rent,

some shoes,

wine if I have the time

but where will my children

find a place to eat

under piles of sand and coal,

will Ego have their backs as well

to protect them

from further turmoil?

 

Will our children

sit separate

from the meal or the plate,

voters at stake,

presidents too late

with their old boxes

and used rhymes,

’cause no one should lie

when they’ve got no time

to solve old Blackbeard’s problems–

go turn them on themselves,

though, and they’d all go runnin.

 

Perhaps off to Ego,

now waiting at the door–

always on watch

as a good man should

he was told, “Boys will be boys,”

and he said, “Shuck yeah,

that’s fine,” so he smoked up

slow and stared on.

 

November 25, 2015

Frozen Lake

It has

taken me a while

to sit in a dark corner,

rest in my chair

and think about the scene

on the lake:

children following

chilled ear-muffed parents,

falling into black puddles

my eyes sore

from their grimaces

and yet, all too soon,

they come back up again.

 

I was never too trusting

of my skates;

faces tell me their parents

are not either.

 

I suppose

falling and rising

are the stepping stones of a generation,

frostbite, bumps and bruises

making our own easier to handle,

each crack in the ice

new wisdom,

a sudden truth

that all we need to know

is not the mirage,

sprawled green grass glowing in the distance.

 

It is the frozen

here and now.

 

July 23, 2015

Washing Off Fear

Things that scare me:

too much movement,

not enough time,

students failing classes,

children falling in line

to a code of conduct

the state tends to copy

from one generation to the next–

why can’t they provide

bandaids instead

for the multitude of broken hearts

and wings clipped off

before they got to fly,

my skin burning and telling me

that inside isn’t safe

and yet the outside won’t stop spinning

I need to jump off,

but where?

I,

we

 must sink in, ankle deep

into a beautiful, mud lined shore

reminding us that a sticky situation

is never incurable–

all we must do

is wash our hands in the tide,

watch water flow

and wait for our souls to follow.

May 2, 2015

Happy (early) Birthday to my little brother, who is going to be a teenager tomorrow! 😮