Trauma
Though
a
frac-
tured
clav-
i-
cle
is
com-
mon,
it
is
not
with-
out
pain.
I’ve watched it, oh, a hundred times;
It never does get tiresome.
Inspiring in a way, of course,
It’s something I draw fire from.
I’m not the best that ever was,
So I’m an also-ran.
I’d rather be My Gallant, though,
Than thought of more like Sham.
My Gallant had a head in front
When they broke from the gate.
But long before they turned for home,
One horse had neighed, “Checkmate.”
I’d like be remembered
As the best to ever race,
Yet I would feel honored
For an instant to keep pace.
And while everyone has lauded
Secretariat and his strengths,
Just remember old My Gallant:
He missed second by a length.
I have surrendered to the moles
in the garden, even as
I sink into tunnel tops
I have surrendered to the rabbits
eating their way through
the backyard buffet
I have surrendered to the groundhogs
ever the critics, taking only
one bite and moving on
I have surrendered to the garter snakes
who leave their skin
scattered amongst the bushes
I have surrendered to the coyote
who runs along the fence line
scouting for breakfast
I have surrendered to the deer
who grazes in the park
eating low hanging leaves
I sit now and watch and listen
and give thanks for
being alive to see it all
1.
There’s no point in planting a garden
this year: the idiot pup would tear it up.
He considers the raised beds his own
personal bone mine, he digs and digs.
So, no peppers or ‘maters, basil or squash.
We’ll get by with bland store-bought
though our tastebuds may revolt.
Chaos comes with four paws.
2.
That great uncle of mine who would
make bathtub gin when he came off
the road from selling encyclopedias:
after a stroke, he said food never tasted right.
Not jalapeños, or spicy barbecue,
not lemon ice or a simple hamburger.
Everything tasted like burning hair.
After he died we buried him
just as he asked, surrounded
by lilies and with a grilled steak in plastic wrap
and a jar of whole grain, his first meal
for when he reached the other side.
3.
That roadside mango stand on the way back
from my every Wednesday hike in the Santa Catalinas.
Letting the fruit chill in the fridge and then
peeling one on the patio in the
starched Arizona heat. How the cold juice
ran down my chin; how the ants gathered
beneath the chair, a communion of drunkards
for that liquor so long brewed within rubbery skin.
4.
I ran into a buzzard once who was too slow
rising from the road, too attached
to his meal to notice my truck coming
his way. I even honked as I grew close
and hit the brakes – late —
that great fat-bodied bird lifting off
got clipped by my windshield.
I watched him slowly spiral down
into the adjoining hayfield, his brothers
clocking his every move.
I fix the unclosable cabinet door
Kat, who talks to dead people,
messages Jennifer: in our world
Time is the limit of our lives
but space offers a freeing view
that we can go anywhere we want
with the disintegrating persistence
of Memory
Now, at the kitchen table,
I think that both tasks
require magnets strong enough
to pull one’s soul sideways
Visitor #1:
Wow!
It’s even more beautiful
than advertised!
Absolutely stunning!
Visitor #2:
Yes, I agree.
And just look at
those incredible clouds!
But why in the world are
Jesus and everyone else
holding babies?
Visitor #1:
That is weird!
I never knew
Heaven had so many babies—
they’re everywhere!
Saint Peter, Gate Manager:
I’m sorry, ladies, but I couldn’t help
overhearing you asking about
the babies.
First, may I ask you
a question, please?
Just where did you think
all those aborted babies
went?
There is a little chipmunk
living in my yard.
She’s taken up residence
under a rotting log.
A squirrel climbs the tree
next to the bird feeder.
Then jumps on the pole
and begins to beat it.
The cracked corn and seed
falls all around.
The squirrel hops off
and eats the corn on the ground.
The chipmunk is watching
perched on her log.
Waiting for the squirrel
to vacate the yard.
But, as the squirrel leaves
other guests arrive.
Two turtle doves
with eating on their mind.
They waddle around
pecking up the seed.
Crisscrossing each other
no direction, no need.
Is the chipmunk impatient?
I see her tail rise.
In an instant she dashes,
to the doves’ surprise.
Off fly the doves,
flustered and scared.
Their breakfast is over,
this chipmunk don’t care.
She fills her cheeks
with all kinds of seed.
Satisfied and happy
the chipmunk then leaves.
There is a little chipmunk
living in my yard.
She’s taken up residence
under a rotting log.
More guns than people in the USA
Over 20 million assault rifles
Try to round them up
and you’ll spawn another Waco
It’s not even a Mexican standoff –
the guns already won
shootings now routine as stormy weather
an inconvenience, like traffic or inflation
What we need to watch for is January 6
exploding like tulips in spring
across the nation, loaded with justification
and rationalization and all the glorious guns
Until we learn what holds a country together
we won’t understand what’s tearing it apart
