On the need for rat poison (1987-89)

I wrote this in the Eighties after reading Browning and Newsweek in one sitting.

I read it in the news today 

that Ollie North will get away 

without a catch – indeed, with pay –

for all the crimes he swore he’d done. 

How can it be his case is won? 

“Because,” says Mr. Sullivan, 

his lawyer extra-ordinaire, 

“It’s simply that we couldn’t dare 

expose such secrets to the air 

as might allow our nation harm

and so, we must avoid alarm 

by curtailing the law’s long arm.” 

And here he abandons the gentle 

smile he wears, so warm, so dental 

for an aspect more parental:

“On this point I’ll brook no denial: 

the case must never come to trial.”

And so the government will file

one last report on this affair 

in offices secluded, where 

yet one more opportunist snake 

may be seen securing his stake –

no matter ethics, what’s the take? 

Another man shamelessly on the make. 

Envoi.

How long will stodgy bureaucrats 

(resplendent in their ermine cloaks 

afforded by us common folks) 

refuse to rid us of the rats? 

We need a Piper, or some cats- 

Grace (2019)

Along the horizon the sea is smooth like glass. 
I scuff salt from my shoes and shuffle forward. 
My legs haven't caught the sea's rhythm yet. 
For years I left the boat in drydock, 
only occasionally checking her hull 
until today when I flooded the slip. 
The sail unfolded like a magazine 
when I freed the shrouds and raised the mast. 
I ran and ran through endless water 
until the breeze died and I sat a while 
but impatience impels me forward. 
I don't like standing still. 

At the pulpit fish swim beneath my feet. 
I stand like a figurehead, feet apart, 
seeking balance against the waves. 
Distant bells proclaim the depths. 
I brought no guide or radio, 
trusting my experience, 
but perhaps I shouldn't return to sea 
with so little preparation.
I could read my old charts, but they seem
as out-of-date as I am.  

I turn my cheek to a breezy kiss 
and watch my pennant flutter. 
I regard my place at the wheel: 
the chair is cracked, the vinyl faded. 
It's a comfortable seat nonetheless.
From here to any point of the compass, 
I can turn me hard alee to meet the wind, 
or turn my back against it as it blows.  

It's funny, the way I remember it.
Once the water was foamy and wild, 
now it's peaceful. I could learn to like it. 
I turn to port and watch the mainsail billow, 
a swollen cheek, the blood-red boom its lips. 

Limerick

With arrogant blindness, as brutes see, 
Trump chose Anthony Scaramucci
To speak to the press, 
But he won't talk unless 
We all call the Donald Il Duce. 

Listen

Talk to me you said, but I am talking

In my heart's limited vocabulary 

Not merely words but whole sentences 

Dense and awkward reams of poetry 

Fall to dust when you catch my eye 

I tell you with my catching breath 

During our brief concurrences 

That warm so much more than skin 

I speak to you often as I can, never aloud 

For I fear my words might deafen you 

You might stop your ears 

Graduation

It happens to every nation. 

The promise of youth fades 

And you must grow up and support yourself 

Because you can't depend forever 

On everyone saying how special you are. 

Your parents gave you expensive gifts 

And sent you off to school yourself

And carry on their good name; 

You squandered your inheritance

On shiny baubles and rich meals, 

Never respecting your debts. 

You hired yourself a cheerleader 

To speak on your behalf; 

Tall with an impressive jaw. 

He glitters when he walks 

And when he sits upon his throne and tweets, 

But it takes a while for you to realize 

He's a few semesters past his prime, 

He was home-schooled in debate, 

He gets checks from exotic zip codes, 

And his quiet friends write all the lines 

In the homework he does and charges you for 

(Your hard-earned money, siphoned out 

To pay the bill that is always larger than you thought). 

He may console you, and tell you how 

You were always the big man on the continent, 

Strutter of the world's stage, 

But the tales he tells are increasingly silly 

And the harder he blows, the less people listen. 

The more you see this huckster for who he is, 

The more you wish friends would help.

But your friendships are all shallow,

You only helped them face bullies when it was expedient, 

And your influence dried up 

After one too many venal wars. 

No one wants to visit you now 

Except to take advantage. 

It happens to every nation; 

You're no different. 

To throw this shyster out on his ear 

Takes disciplined democracy 

And very great resistance. 

Inauguration

I mourn the lack of a Paul Revere 

but I have no confidence people would listen 

if he didn't tweet (much less, shout) 

about the dangers stalking black churches, 

mosques in Texas, Standing Rock, 

assault in an office in Greenwich, 

and ruling out words at Liberty's feet. 

We left our welfare to talking heads - 

some sparkling as they eye the camera, 

others primly quoting scripture

(all well-paid, regardless), 

most avoiding the eyes of victors 

who warmly congratulate one another 

saying, welcome now, the end of respect 

and a beginning to the rule of fear. 

Fear is in the mind. If risk 

is not worth the reward, 

why, the Experiment is truly over. 

Let us live out our nation's creed. 

Let this week be your Inauguration. 

Midwest Campaign Color

I liked Ike and I liked Mike 

but they are of two different kinds 

and I never confused one for the other  

I never thought the picture painted the person 

I never pledged my all for pretty lies 

or how aggressively one could dunk  

they say that love is blind but 

I can distinguish between a game 

and pursuit of the general welfare 

some loves are still sacred 

and not able to be summarized 

in a symbol or a sound bite 

and liberty means nothing at all 

if it isn't shared with rivals

so clutch your desperate foam fingers  

and rally for your team 

I'll be here with a first aid kit 

when your icons slip and fall 

because this "game" as you call it 

is more important than your fandom