O black toad,
Sage of the sodden floor,
Grant me your stoicism
As I go my labored way.
And may you prosper,
Consume legions, grow fat;
Yet deftly elude all
Who would do you injury.

Red-Winged Blackbird

Here you are again, in the chain-link fence.
It's the same every day as I pass by
heading home--you perched there.
Are you waiting for someone?
Do you, like me, wonder what's next?

I'm often on the fence, too. Each day
I pray for success for my six children.
I can't rest until they are on their own,
thriving.  My wife is the same.
We keep our eyes on hope.

Blackbird, you neither sow nor reap,
nor gather into barns.  Do you question,
each day, how you will feed your family?

People urge me to write a will.
It's inevitable, but I feel responsible.
I want to be here for them.  I still talk
to my parents and am pretty sure they listen.

I don't know if you, blackbird, contemplate
these things each day like me.
I'll swing by again tomorrow.

Daybreak and weathered men with their fermented drinks,
make way for the morning.

Doorways dimly lit beyond the ruins of lesser worlds,
older boys laughing aloud,
Near the honest sun
and the absent clouds.

The mesa seemed heavy as birds shimmered above-
whats their place in all this land?

Mornings were always cold
even while sunbeams flourish,
The farmhands copper in color, congregate near cattle, pipes in hand, hoping for good days ahead.

was uttered in a
computer generated,
non-demeaning,
gender neutral tone
by the impersonal,
unemotional,
automated,
grocery checkout machine.

"Enter your customer ID now!"
demands the artificial human.

"And... if I don't?"
I query the metallic shell
of what once was
a minimum wage employee.

There was no reply.

The shift has begun
I'm going into labor
I must fulfill my contractions
Before I die late
Will I produce something beneficial to the world?

I rest in quiet tribute and praise
for the exquisite joy
of this modest labor

Happy labor day
family, friends and picnics.
childhood memories