Oh, humanity
can we strive
to live a life
of compassion?

If we hear
the elderly
crying and lonely
can we spare
a moment,
can we care
enough to listen?

If we see a stranger
standing on a corner
with a lifetime
of white hair
and pain to share
even though
he may be scamming
can we still care
enough to spare
some food at least?

If we stand shoulder to shoulder
with the disenfranchised,
the disrespected
and the disappointed people
who have been
discriminated against
can we look them in the eyes
with love and respect
and not add to the grief
that they always seem to get?

If we get the chance
can we be better
then the others
who came before?
Can we do just a little more
and be decent for a change?

I saw a girl in a wheelchair on her porch
and wasps were swarming in the cornice

She had just washed her hair
taken it down and combed it

She could see
just like me

That one star under the rafter
shining like a knife in the creek

She was thin as the hereafter
and made me think

Of music singing to itself
like someone putting a violin in a case

And walking off with a stranger
to lie down and drink in the dark by the lake.

I take off my boots
and throw one at the moon
tonight, the starlight is mute
after listening to the news
watching politicians kissing
the President's *** like it
was a ruby on the Pope's ring
while the people weep
in the streets, crying out about
all the orders from above,
no more doves or butterflies,
no gardens, no dreaming, no
poets, no brooms, no hope
for the sick and weary, only
last straws, executive actions,
anti-immigrant policies.

At dusk I hang up
a worn blue work
shirt that smells
strongly of love
of dirt of the earth
melancholy, sweat
yesterday's brews
the blues, regret
twenty cigarettes
black breath
of the bone moth
old blood, moon dust
spring pollen, summer
grass, Autumnal ****
winter's cold blast
sea salt and pine needles
mountain laurel, desert air
my dog's hair, I swear
I can't bear the thought
of washing or throwing away
all the stains, the growing pains
the laughter, the sorrows
these history lessons I need
to get me through tomorrow.

A questionable son
the one
who chose auto repair
and serial monogamy
finds the golden road
to Washington, D.C. respectability

What does his father do?
He buys him a briefcase

And everything followed
and flowed
from that mineral moment

A career
a wife, in time
a briefcase never used
but full of good wishes
murmurs
and marching orders

The road ahead
seemed wide open
stretching west
into a golden glow
and open it was
purged of hindrance
by the workings of time

So here am I
that golden road
now behind me

Life seems a sand castle
on a castle of sand
with the tide pouring in

It is that last ember
glowing as the fire
goes dark

Tomorrow and tomorrow
beckon from a fabled future
they bid me adieu

I can smell the scent
of decay in this
warm summer's wind
kiss the sweetness of it
on my lips

I do not part willingly
hold out my hand
for every shred of
summer's light

But at the end of it
pack my poor bag
and make a crow's march
home
where I belong

When love comes to visit
she only stays a few days
at a time; her work in the city
is important she says, so
she brings her satchel of books

I wait at the crossroads
where the bus lets her off

Then we go to bed to dream
where she sings and hums
before morning comes

When she gets up
and pulls on her jeans
and goes out on the porch
it's so early you can see the moon
and the sun; I go to work
while she lays around
to read and do what she does

The days go so slow
and when I get home
she's baked some apples
and painted my bedroom blue

The next morning
I take her up the road
to the bus; we say so long

She never talks about her job,
so I leave her  alone.

You're willing to die for a country
That will exclude you from being able to serve.
You're willing to **** for a country
That still thinks a Bible is a valid argument.
You're willing to contribute to a conflict
That isn't as big a threat to your life
As the people you've vowed to protect the liberty of.
And you do it again and again
With a fraction of the respect patriots demand veterans are entitled to.
Because you've decided to put the needs of the complacent
Above your own human rights.
And you'll get no thanks from them,
Because they can't sleep easily at night
Unless they can rip off your clothing and see what's in your pants.
And if it doesn't add up to their image?
You can sacrifice your life for theirs and they'll still call you a freak.