I see people dying
hear brothers calling for their mothers
smell the flyblown excrement of bureaucratic justifications
feel planetary cylinders misfiring
taste dwindling ice in my oceanic drink
know it’s almost too late
If it rhymes with duck
looks like a
& the people who do it just don’t give a
you can add ed
I see a new world in order
hear cries of injured Asian amahs
smell politically-orphaned children at the border
feel violated like Stone Mountains and Black Hills
know nothing but my name
Cause’ If it looks like a
acts like a
Sometimes people live too close to one another
their smelly lines overlapping lives
psyches stepping on toes
& problems bleeding in through doors & windows.
Neighbors crying, remonstrating, manipulating, and copulating
demonstrating the need for soundproofing or renovating
yet we wave the next day our smiles ingratiating
because at their expense our needs we’ve been satiating
and the building goes on.
Some stress “urban sprawl” others cry “urban blight.”
Developers rub hands with piggish delight.
Smart animals follow the birds taking flight
while poor confused deer become targets at night.
Yet the building goes on.
Big boxes, small boxes, strip…
I’ve discovered a cure for writer’s block!
All the other things I have to do.
Oh how prolific I seem to become when grading a paper or two
Or cooking the family stew
Or cleaning up pots from my roux
Or trying to write my class syllabi two days past the date they were due
(Not just for one class but two)
The doggerel I make up in lieu of my work should be up for judicial review
While I just sit here and stew
work’s abducted my brain like a coup
Then poetry told me to stop washing dishes…
(a haiku suite)
gorged upon humanity
never to be healed?
none for all for one
bring your tired toward wall
who like living in cages
got somthin’ forum
glitch in the matrix
i want a do-over
Patriotism Chenin Blanc
do what founders’ ideals said
unlike what they do
That old white dog keeps comin’ around
with his fur moldy beige & his tail on the ground.
His eyes muddy red, his gait shaggy & slow,
smellin’ like old newspapers dragged through the snow.
With his voice real hoarse & his bark real mean
most inconsiderate bastard that’s ever been seen.
Never asks for permission or considers your time
moves in your bedroom — don’t pay a damn dime.
He’ll pass gas on your pillow & pee in your shoe
and that’s just the start of the things he will do.
He leaves fleas in the bathtub and hair…
“Never piss a teacher off . . .” (Homage to Taylor Mali)
They smugly asked about my job — just the other day
and at first, I found my words amiss — I had very little to say.
But it wasn’t that I wasn’t pissed, or didn’t know how to commence,
it’s just that liking to work where I do — it’s hard to make that make sense.
Then these fools said, “Those that can — do. Those that can’t . . .” (Well, you know the rest).
So I really tried to explain things to them (without kicking them…
Teacher, reader, writer, eater.