A painting
that evokes
either
claustrophobia
or comfort.

Smart alecky tourists
All crack the same tired jokes
A thousand times a day.

And we are no saints.
Sometimes when the heat
Is elevated
And the humidity
Takes your breath
We forget to laugh.

One ******* on sunday
Asked If there would be
An indian attack
And I just looked at him.

Too stupid to give up
He asked if I would attack
Because I look like an Indian.

I smiled
As if to say bless your heart
And told him honestly
"Not usually on Sunday."

Knife and tomahawk
Are never far away
Though

right in the face of all the everyday reports
about disasters near and far

why do we not remember
the beauty of our world
the people whom we know
who are quite wonderful  and do great things
    day in day out without much clanging
    of media cymbals or rewards

the teenager who saves a drowning man
    thinks s/he just did the natural thing

the union woman in the protest march for better wages
    believes it’s simply natural to march

the officer leading a child that lost its way
    home to the parents

the neighbor noticing that her best friend next door
    has not picked up her morning paper

et cetera    et cetera

they are the unremembered heroes
of our daily lives

methinks our media are too obsessed
    with all the bad news in the world
and over that simply forget
    that it’s the good things which allow them to report
also the less enticing aspects of mankind

another cup of coffee down the hatch
                  can't find a reason to stay awake;

another cup of coffee down the hatch-
                                             **forced survival.

And  when  his  usefulness  had  gone.
They  just  cast  him  aside.
And  on  the  final  downhill.
He  began  to  slide.

Rejected  after  all  his  work.
Visions  now  all  gone.
He  knew  full  well  his  time  was  near.
He  knew  he  had  not  long.

As  an  old  man  disillusioned.
And  weary  from  his  fight.
He  spent  in  sad  remembrance.
His  final  lonely  night.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.