By all accounts he’s had a lifelong case of OCD.
“Donald was a disruptive tyke”- his teachers all agree.
He was not much of a scholar but, as a youth, excelled in sports.
As a builder and developer he was often seen in  Courts.

When it comes to matters of the heart, he sadly is no wiser
He loves them and he leaves them. He’s a noted womanizer.
Oh, he pays them for their trouble; that much I will allow.
Still he’s never had compunction over breaking wedding vows.

Now he is our President and making noise on Trade.
If he doesn’t get his way beware his twitterverse tirade.
He's paying  farmers Billions  to forgo their tillage.


Hillary was wrong- It takes a child to raze a village.

Cicadas whine metallically
In trees along the sweltered streets;
Wasps and hornets arc angrily
Enough to cause me fear.
Late summer’s not my favorite time of year.

Flowers nearly done;
The tulips, irises, and poppies
Long since seeded out;
They’ve had their fun.
Bedraggled day lilies remain,
This is the beginning of the mums.
Bees seek latent nectars
Or tap into their golden stores
To supplement their bumbling runs.

Lawns foist a burnt but stubborn edge
While only thistles still refuse
To bow to August's incessant heat;
Their spikes sprout poisonous defiance.
The dog’s left yellowed pools of dying grass;
I admit the neighbors’ lawns surpass.  
I suppose the time to gather
Drying excrement’s returned, alas....

Keeping up appearances is hard at summer's end.
Ennui of season full and just past ripe  
Leaves tired old men like me
A chiding cause to gripe.

Cause for despair, this...
Dr. Heidegger's experiment gave new life to old bones.
Elixir re-infusing lust and ******
Once the liquid hit the blood,
All bets on again for nothing good.

I grew up working the land,
Out under the sun,
In the wind,
Squinting in the semi-arid dust
Of our farm.

My sister lived inside,
Learning to cook,
To clean,
To live the farm wife's life.

We both live now in cities
A thousand miles from that old farm,
Visiting a week or two....
Never long.

Our recollections vary.
I suppose they must.
So when we walk a country road
We see things differently.

She sees flowers and rolling hills,
Grasses bowing gracefully in the breeze,
Dusty agates hiding patterns.

I see dust upon the flowers and grass,
I curse the way days pass
In wind and heat and cold
Turning living creatures old.

Hard the stones,
Sharp the thistles,
Bent the curling flowers,
Wind-rutted the hills
By wind and water powers.

I am tempered in my sister's pondering,
Pause in my cynicism.

She holds an agate to the light,
Turning it angle to angle
Seeing Beauty glow inside.

Dad didn't want a coffin.
"Cremate my last remains,"
And so we did.
Cool and dry,
His ashes, urned,
Lie beneath the sod
And prairie sky
Waiting some clarion call,
Some trill of hope,
Bright, re-constitutional,
Faith-affirming.

Mother's wishes rise before us:
No crematory,
No embalmer.
Just her blanket,
Just a hole
Dug beside our Dad.

The law would let her wish be true,
But her children won't.
We're searching coffin plans.
Reverently grim,
Lovingly deferential,
Dutifully rebellious,
Solemn this journey be.

Pine boards to honor her thrift
But smooth and tight,
Rope handles, fitted lid,
Perhaps a little trim,
Perhaps a sheaf of wheat carved
For the old farmer she was.

We'll bury her,
Wrapped in her blanket,
Tucked securely in pine
Beside my father's ashes.

Like a grain of wheat she'll lie
Silent in her final say
Inside our final say
Waiting Resurrection Day.