Autumn Cleanup

	"In the Bible, callousness is the root of sin."
                    Abraham Joshua Heschel

The grass, from the end of summer
and drought, stirs with dust
as metal blades whip it. It feels
nothing as the desiccate leaves
drift down or batter it with prairie wind.  
A portable radio of a bright yellow plastic 
spins out a litany of words to explain, 
to bring calm acceptance, 
though the omens do not 
bode well for resurrections.
My tongue clings to the roof
of my dry mouth. I cannot speak out
in this arid air. The leaves do not 
blanket but fly away from here.  
The words pile up, linger.  
	
	 


Tossed About in the Pacific

Our captain hunched his large frame
around the wheel, ordered us 
to freeze in place as winds beat
at us and the water. Would we make it
around the point? Could his engine
fail? Dim worries, only enough
to place my ecstasy into a B-movie, 
I the dumb broad beaten about 
by the dark and irresistible lover,
always coming back for more.  
Our paper-plated tourist food
pelted those in rows behind us, 
a snowstorm of rice,
a slap of lettuce as we lifted
the topping plate to snatch a bite
off of a plastic fork. This was surely 
the high adventure of my dreams,  
mine the face of Humphrey Bogart 
(or Charles Laughton?), grim
with determination to culminate
this scene to a swell of music
so huge that all came out right
just as flickers from the screen faded 
and the triumphant houselights came up.  




Deposit and Invest

"They laughed at simplicities, the laugh of a wounded race."
	Derek Walcott, OMEROS

The bank clerk got away
with it, knew how to hide
the bricked-up doorway
with drapes. Neither investors
nor auditors nor boards realized.
In time the sun could no longer
penetrate the dense red clouds,
and dry leaves began to fall.
Piles of deposit slips escaped,
slowly diminished, and coins
of finger-smudged gold
and silver did not stack up
as expected. By the time
the jollity stopped and each
held in breath to hear better,
it was too late to listen. 




After Braque: Elsie Queen Nicholson (1908-92)

Her pale face among the browns
off-center, unbalanced by dark space
of cracked paint. A severe line
of parted hair, nose, nostrils,
lips, braids all equal. The eyes, 
the cheeks, the chin shatter 
with dark weights on the scale.

Happily married and young, 
career in interior design, batik,
fabric printing, wallpaper, carpets, 
life symmetry perfect. Late life sideline
hangs in National Portrait Gallery,
Cubist self portrait of crayon, ink.

Distortion sifts up
from muddy depths, tranquil
with late afternoon pond colors,
a quiet correctness of all
that is well-broken. 




Parking Lots

Vehicles darken the sun
like clouds of locust
but the fields they devour
do not offer nourishment
or loss to our tables, anyway.
We don't shudder at the sight
or run out waving aprons,
frantic. Placidly the hordes
sit on concrete wavering sun
back up to itself. Cement mixers
move about freely, turning,
churning. We only curse 
them when one slows
the flow of traffic.  




The East Speaks Hope, the West of Duress

The slender narcissus, painted white to bless
Against Mt. Fuji's distance with blues and snowy peak
Contrasts to doomed Greek's long hopelessness.

The East speaks hope, the West of duress.

A Chinese dragon parades in bright dress,
Foretells fortune, good luck even while ours
Cruelly sits, surly, on his heaped up largess.

The East speaks hope, the West of duress.

To pick up a penny is fortune's caress.
Four-leaf clover, or petals come out daisy right
To lift Western hearts to belief in success.

The East speaks hope, the West of duress.

Blossom bent to adore in her pale white dress
Foretells an Eastern  rise on Fortune's wheel
While our god waits for doppelganger's caress.

The East speaks hope, the West of duress.

Our  monster spits flames, all churlishness,
His gold piled high in a mountain of greed.
While New Year's feet prance in happiness.

The East speaks hope, the West of duress.

Pale blossom and myth's creature both acquiesce
To our hidden dreams of fortune or blame.
They hint our hearts' secrets for others to guess.

The East holds Hope. The West fears Duress.