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

FOR CAMILLE GRACE

With the practiced grace of a water ballet
she floated into our world

Rising to the surface like a miniature mermaid,
her roseate skin reflecting our joy.

She squalled upon her arrival, the water
rippling with delight as she navigated her way into our hearts

FOR  ELIAN

At precisely 4:30 am
on a thick Miami morning
all masks, rifles and jagged bravado
they kicked in the door without warning

The family scattered like frightened birds
they could not believe what they saw
as they were thrown to the ground and kicked
all in the name of the law

Elian hiding in the closet
wrapped in his saviour’s arms
Poor Elian, terror in his eyes
just wants to be safe from harm

Reno’s rangers snatched the boy
in an act of retribution
because a terrorist named Castro wanted him back
to hell with the Constitution