Everyone has something to say.
While this is true, not everything said
makes it into the news or the archive.
All night, the noisy congress of frogs;
the screeching of possums and owls. Who
conducts their decorum, who launches
a 24-hour filibuster? Where does it come from,
the audacity to address history, to say wait
a minute, listen to me? I'll say I'm tired
of endlessly rolling the wheels of commerce,
one of millions of hamsters unfairly predicted
to die before tasting their reward. I'm afraid
to look too closely at pickup trucks on the road
flying flags with a giant blue X on a field of red.
Part of you occasionally doesn't know how to feel
about never having learned to handle a gun. But you
still believe in the kind of hope that wants to be
done with war. Our parents wore their shoes until
their soles came undone. They studied books, and also
believed certain things are more durable than weapons
or words: what we mean when we say I give you my word.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
