~one more, for Pradip~
you write me a simple irony
of steely truth
love to know how you do that thing you do...
every time you notate upon a scribble I discard,
you manage to extract the kernel, the original seeded sin,
and in a single sentence, summarize so much better
than all my itinerant beggar-thy-peer essaying.
and it’s 3:49am here in the epicenter and only
335 anonymous-to-me died yesterday,
they died unmedaled,
(does that include the ER doc who committed suicide?)
a fact to be sadly celebrated and sadly commemorated
only in charts and graphic
graphs,
but I distract myself.
for what needs saying is this:
my sense of what you wrote, modest old poet,
the title of this very poem
is best internally directed, attached,
as an appliqué yellow star, proudly worn, when sewn upon the chest
of the man who authored it...
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