Your Loss

It seems our disability makes you
A jackass and irrational--you run
In fear from difference and all that's true--
You try to fight the future like a Hun.
You run in fear from anything that's  new--
You threaten all that changes with a gun
And anything we make you must undo--
You must make sure that all like us are none.

Our disability is in your eyes--
You're just as strange to us in all your fears
And hatred, worries, stress, and neediness.
It's truth and working hard that you despise
And then you say that we're the faulty gears
When history shows that we mostly bless.

The Nest Egg

The nested sticks are nestled in the tree-
Top nest that grows in circle-width and height
Until the laws of physics' cold decree
Of gravity launch both the eagles' flight.
The ground is littered with the broken twigs--
The rats are licking yolks from shattered eggs,
And they are chased away by wild pigs
Who dine, ignoring what each eagle begs.
The golden eagles bring the branches, build
Upon the nest they add to every year--
And we have joined the golden eagle guild
Where constant growth seems all that's ever dear.
The wind will dissipate each human oath,
For nature always limits growth.

Broken Boxes

The broken boxes, small containers, locks
All rendered useless, as they always were--
There's not a yard without a broken box
Here in this neighborhood. Must we endure
Exposure of these things we want to hide?
With guns they came, but hammers were their tools--
They only took where secrets would abide
And we're exposed as intimates and fools.
The contents of our boxes, those they left
For all to see, to expose all our lives
There in the grass, the intimate bereft
Of intimacy, all that it derives.
The boxes broken are meant to expose
That no one is the person who he shows.

An Offer From Our Institutes

Congratulations Susan Harlan! You

Are found most worthy of a place in our

New Institute of Envy Studies due

To all your expertise. You’ll be the flower

Of our institute. We are sure you’ll seed

The future of these studies as we need.

I’m certain you’ll be happy you’ll receive

No money whatsoever – not from banks,

Philanthropies, nor businesses – you’d grieve,

We’re sure, if you were funded by such cranks.

Since money is the root of evil, we

Are happy to ensure your virtue’s free.

We’re also certain we can find a place

Within our Institute of Misanthropic

Beliefs – we know it would be a disgrace

To pay – participation on this topic

Is free from such material concerns—

We’re certain of what in you truly burns.

We hope the summer has not meant we missed

Our opportunity to offer this

To you for you were placed high on the list

Of people we should offer all the bliss

Of being one who we should study for

The vices which make others become poor.

Laundering

The mind is quiet folding towels, large
rectangles three-dimensioned with the fold,
The simple bringing together of corners
And building solid stacks to fight damp, cold.

But not all folding is the same--the socks
Are rummaged through in desperate search for pairs
That match--and now the mind is hard at work
That everyone will have what each one wears.

The towels give us boredom, repetition
We need to meditate and quiet mind--
No hanging, sorting, unclean folds--just even,
Uncomplicated movements to unwind.

Sent Home

I stood there in my doorway, watched them walk
Into the blizzard, white on white dissolved
Them into night--the bushes bearded old
Beside the door--I felt the frost evolved
From nasal breath begin to build--my back
Too warm, a trickle in my hairs. They're bold
To venture out when footsteps vanish, lack
Is filled--the last to disappear is talk.