Merica Circa 2035
The radical left
in a panic, bolting
from his rundown cabin
leaving behind
coffee in pot
toast in toaster and
tools of his trade:
gasmask
red Make America Green Again hat
battered bookmarked Monkey Wrench Gang
framed warrant for resisting arrest
along with a plump orange cat
that bounds from floor to chair
to table to countertop
as masked thugs
shoulder through
the unlocked front door.
Good kitty says one chuckling
before blowing off her head
point blank
eliminating any threat of
indoctrinating others.
Dusk descending now, bloodthirsty hounds
bay bellow yelp
hot on the trail of
one of the last stragglers left
outside of captivity
or the bone piles.
Meanwhile in the tidy house
of his nearest neighbors
a worry-slim early-grey woman listens
pacing her kitchen
knitting air with nail-bitten fingers
Sleepy Time Tea long gone cold.
Your garden reminds me of Eden
and my mother
he once said to her
while walking by.
She’s remembering
also, when
they conspired for him to
secretly feed her cats
when she and Frank visited the grandkids
That one time,
that last time.
Wandering now into the family room she says
in her most sing-song voice
Sounds like they’re closing in.
Her husband, La-Z-boyed, tv watching
huffs, muttering: vermin
exterminators on the job.
Wordlessly she slippers away
to the mudroom
steps into her boots while
draping his Carhart
over slight shoulders
feels for his pickup keys
right there in the pocket as always
as she ever-so-gently shuts the door
behind her.
Thinking of Gaza
Thinking of Gaza while
lip-smacking over a plate heaped
with omelet, bacon, hash browns, toast
coffee, refilled, several times, thank you.
It’s officially famine
that news nugget drifted by few weeks back
here and gone now
less staying power than a B-lister gossip piece.
Even Trump called it starvation
saw the pictures, and said so
then about week later called Bibi a war hero
and added: I guess that make me one too!
A friend told us her kid sister
asked “what’s this Gaza thing?”
but tuned out the explanation.
We were aghast, of course.
Can you imagine? Not even knowing!
Not that I’m any better
in fact, immeasurably worse,
knowing what I know
and doing nothing -- zilch
except talking back to the TV.
I really should donate some money
a hundred bucks, go big
then again, today’s opening NFL Sunday
and planning to dump $100 into my FanDuel account.
Hmm…I’ve got it!
I’ll put my winnings, minus the hundred,
toward Gaza
amplify my impact
win-win.
That settled,
my mind wanders dark, imagining
a little one
wither away, little less of her every day
her voice barely a whisper, eyes dimming
until there’s nothing left but
a skin-tight skeleton,
then dead, dust to dust.
Damn, there’s no butter on this toast, waitress
would you mind? And some jam
jam would be great.
Omelet is a bit runny in the middle
but keeping that to my lonesome
I’ll muddle through.
Waiting for check now,
staring me from the wall at this place is the
‘God, grant me the serenity’ bit,
With a picture of the cutest little blondie, clutching a sunflower
beaming heavenward
I square the message with these morning thoughts
gotta say, feeling a smidge bit better about myself
serenity now
“You wanna box that?”
We both stare at the plate
half an omelet left, lump of potatoes
a strip of bacon, four packets of jam, unopened.
I think longer than she has patience and
she glances, dramatically, at the noisy kitchen.
“Naw, I’m good.”
Driving away, I picture a dishwasher kid
scraping my breakfast into the trash,
piling my food on the other food, from all the others
who declined a box
plenty enough to sustain a family for a week
I’m sure of that.
And then remembering
to flip on the car radio
just in time for kickoff.
Fresh start of a new season
bump bump bump bah…
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