SUNNIER DAZE

SUNNIER DAZE

Was it always sunnier back then?

Days as long, sweet and lanquid
as a strawberry Twizzler

Coaster wagons as red and gleaming
as a crate of Macintosh apples

In the background, the barking
of unseen mutts

The staccato hammering of roof repairs,
distant and  intense, like the stuttering reports
from a firing range

Lawn sprinklers twirling like ballerinas,
inviting us to rush headlong
into their cooling waters

Streets churning with baseball games
and shiny Schwinns, their spokes
chattering from baseball cards
swatting their spokes

Sidewalk lemonade stands
in daily duels with roller skaters
who whirr past hop-scotchers,
like wheeled angels

The universal law of summer
declared the harder we played,
the less it rained

The more we perspired,
 the more intense the fun

and maybe the memories slowly fade,
like old photos in the family album

But one thing never fades:
the realization that it was always sunnier
back then

COSTUMES

Sometimes in the crevices of night,
when the only sound is my own breathing

I ponder the mystery of death
and what costume it will wear when it comes calling

Will it assume the identity of a tumor
coarsing through my organs like a wild stallion,

trampling everything in its path until
I lay dormant, like an ancient artifact?

Will it spring like a Halloween prank,
dressed like an embolism

racing toward my brain, only to burst
its arterial boundaries in a tsunami of blood?

Or maybe it will skim the streets, all metallic,
careless as a tropical wave,

oblivious to traffic signals as it flies unrestrained
until it T-bones me as I contemplate dinner

Whatever costume it wears,
I will refuse to recognize it.

Instead, I will turn my back, naked,
and deny its presence.

###

FROM THE OLD/TO THE YOUNG

We are not flowers
                wilted and faded

We are not engines
                our internal parts worn and ground smooth

We are not ships
                run aground, stuck in the mire

We are not river beds
                stagnant and evaporating

We are proud strands of energy
                bound together by our humanity
                beacons of wisdom
                sharpened by experience

We may be lined and weathered
                but we have persevered
                like the mountains, surviving
                the ravages that only time can administer

So give us our due
acknowledge our victories
forgive us our sins

For one day you, too, will be mountains
upon which future generations
will scale to new heights

ADVENTURES OF DOG KILLER

Dog killer crouches
at the window, grips
 the AK47 as if it were

a wild animal lunging
at its prey, incisors
flashing, machete-like claws

ready to eviscerate. He takes aim,
squeezes off a single round
that rebukes the afternoon miasma

with an abusive pop. The round
violates the dog
at the scruff of the neck

and exits with a plume of blood
and viscera, particles like fluorescent
insects spewing in all directions.

There is a yelp as the dog
collapses to the pavement
like a wilted flower.

Dog killer smiles admiringly
at his handiwork, while he waits
for another command

from the unknown radio station,
but it doesn’t matter, for
the voice broadcasts on all frequencies

RISE UP

They kneel in protest
as a show of unity and strength
against injustice

Yet they do not realize
that dropping to their knees
is a sign of capitulation

A manifestation of weakness
and surrender to a
higher power

Humankind’s momentous achievements,
justice and freedom,
prosperity and health

occurred only when we rose to our feet,
stood erect, back as straight as a giant oak,
head held high, eyes focused skyward

Then and only then did we defeat disease,
ease hunger pains,
build the towers of concrete and steel

that point to the stars,
monuments to courage and vision,
our gaze locked on the future

Drop to your knees
and you become a symbol
of sacrifice and suffering

But when we stand tall,
defiant and unwavering,
we become like mythical gods

FOR LILLIAN AND CAMILLE

They smile down at me
     from their framed pictures on the wall

Two beautiful fawns
     of elegant innocence, their hair

the color of fresh honey in the sunlight
     their eyes as effervescent
 as the sky after a spring downpour

SIPPING ALONE

Peculiar
          How the setting sun
          bisects the tabletop
          at the outdoor café
                         Part sun
                         Part shade
          coffee in my hefty cup
          rippling like low tide
          in the wake of passing pedestrians
         
          No one stopping to share a cup
          No one stopping to hear my stories

          So it is just me and the Jamaican blend,
          roasted to enrich its flavor

          And as the afternoon grows bored
          with my companionship,
          the shadow rolls across the table
          like death’s profile
                         while the Jamaican dawdles and cools
                         at the bottom of my cup,
                         as empty tables gather around me
                         like bewildered disciples

          Yet I stubbornly remain,
           waiting for my cup to be refilled,
           and the chair across from me to be occupied