Category: Poetry

The tollway ground its feet in muck today
to boost a no good scoundrel past the cops.
But why, you ask? Make law enforcement try.
They have to nab their man, finger their perp,
throw the book at him, put him in the clink,
throw away the key, take away his stuff,
serve him all his meals, make him break some rocks,
tell him he’s no good, beat him if he’s smart.
The justice system sits around and gloats;
they’ve got old Uncle Sam behind their cause.
Gruff and angry, aftershave aplenty.

For the most part–as we say around here–no longer does the swan neck riverboat captain hang a hopeful liturgy dispelling the climate of zesty zebra hooves in the sand; an antelope gawks at this critical misstep, but only for a second–it flees from a cackling hyena whose bark is much worse than its bite.

Exuberance flies through the mouth of a hog;
that tenderloin needs a few days.

Burrow in a barn and send up a flare
when the farmer picks up his old pitchfork.

The crows don’t seem to mind the cold;
they didn’t invest in a timeshare.

The kitchen smells like onions and bacon grease.

The refrigerator holds an endless supply of charming dental whiplash for perusal at a moment’s notice; territorial shotgunning beating corridor hymnals to the moon and back with exceptional speed.

Suspend images through honey rollers and feather breakneck sausage patties atop unlaid bricks and mortar. It doesn’t take much when you really think about it.

The versatile, edible almond–taken for granted–roasted, salted, packed into tins. They wait, unbreathing. They see the intricacies of the rigid universe–the spheres and hues and flocking birds–from their sealed vantage point. They take it higher, to philosophy, faith and free will. They struggle to imagine how their brethren must feel out in the air, mobile and frolicking.

Then the time comes–they’re sold from the shelf and taken to a suburban single-family home. A mother’s hand blends them with other trail mix elements–raisins, pretzels, seeds and chocolate bits, all gasping freedom for those sweet few seconds. Then they’re sealed in a tupperware and relegated to the pantry.

United in their unrelenting tender curiosity, the diverse bunch engages in a forum covering ideal existence–the tupperware tips them into snack bags as they reminisce over the life they lived with their snack-based kindred souls.

The final frontier awaits them now, the mystery of the brown paper bag.

Throw a new decision on the pile;
it smolders like burning birch bark.
For a few seconds it warms your hands,
affirming your difficult choice–then
it falters and vanishes into the breeze,
getting soot in your eye; stand upwind!

You’re quick to whip up in a frenzy,
but your eyes won’t be fixed by frustration.
Run to the nearest fresh water source,
rinse out those false hopes, dearest.