Spring teases
warming, but not warm
sky clearing, but not bright and blue
the vibrant green of the grass
indicates the existence of a solar presence
perhaps the view is better from the garage
than from this window
dusty, though recently cleaned
how does that happen so fast?
I see trees – still bare
no grass – bad angle
no sun – bad sky
something must be blamed
what really matters is the blame

this morning
weird weather aside
interweb worship was
increasingly less awkward
as we hit week six
Zoom social after
through our webcams
properly distanced
of course
no coffee, no cookies
esprit de corps, nonetheless
I even wore khakis
not that it mattered

what matters?
there’s a good
quarantine question

I worry about
that frog
the one slowly boiling to death
unaware of the rising heat

Reminds me of a childhood dream
nightmare, really

“We only want you”
the bony finger points
through barred windows
but not at me
at someone behind me

countless repetitions
still haunt

Frogs, fingers,
“we only want you”
this poem becomes a witch’s brew

Pull me back to the
green, green grass
I beg
why does my mind go down this alley?
knowing only a dumpster of disappointment awaits.
pentagrams in gruff graffiti
interpreted as you like
assuage no fears in this
dank dead end
better to stay on the street and find a quarter,
shiny against the oil-stained pavement


things are wrong in our country
in our world
on our Earth

“That Woman from Michigan”
becomes Leviathan
no monster at all
simply protecting the lakes
and those in her care
but DAMN she’s hurting ExxonMobil
and boaters
I guess.

You know who the monster is
or maybe you don’t
but Aunt Patti knows that
Nelson Mandela
reading Goodnight Moon
would reap the roughest of
republican rejection
until overnight polls
required a reversal

Great man. Great book.
The best. Never any better!

I have a conspiracy theory of my own.
perhaps the puerile pronouncements
and rapid retractions
are part of a plan

“The President has been very clear”
except when he hasn’t

silence might be nice for a change
quiet as a courtyard cannon
in the city square


condemn that old courthouse!
crush that decrepit cannon!
construct me a castle
an homage to the new birth of society
a Renaissance Center, if you will
Make America Great Again!

they’d never call it that, you know
Renaissance Center
not because it’s already taken
he’s clearly fine with borrowing
it just doesn’t have his name on it

speaking of which
get your check yet?
go to sleep – maybe tomorrow

Good night, stars. Good night, air. 
Good night, noises everywhere.

now imagine that in the Xhosan accent
of a South African statesman.
the man who saved his people.
hard to tell if I’m comforted
or just reminded of this protracted bad dream,

if my work has pleased you

I accept your grateful appreciation.

It’s most welcome

and expected.

if this poem was a downer

or made you angry

I don’t take responsibility at all.


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