Seasons Greetings from Ferguson

The star spangled banner hung upside-down;

now, without an indictment, right-side up, oddly,

tear gas rockets trailing sparks above the red glare of

SEASONS GREETINGS

strung across the street, people below running, yelling,

testing the cops, tipping cars, setting buildings ablaze,

all so sweet in their Guy Fawkes masks,

little hoodies, Timberland boots, Earth muffins all,

Anarchists, Socialists…God love ‘em.

Ah, America!  I hear you singing!

But what is this?  It’s nothing, a lullaby.

Is that all you’ve got?

Listen to another fine fascist:

“Damn you, sing: Goddamn!”

Hear 1919 for a voice from the belly.

Cable news, not beer halls?

I-Phones instead of brick bats?

YouTube clips in lieu of bombs?

Come on, it’s candy-ass, nothing.

What must our undocumented immigrants think,

Or those sleepers with expired visas?

Give them hope: charge the barricades!

Grab some money; it’s the final solution:

become anathema to yourself, but first,

turn the streets into sheets of fire.

Oh, you’ll need flames far hotter than these to melt hearts.

SK 11/24/2014

Going MAD

If it does come down to marking minutes,
our masses huddled in cinder block basements,
or blankets in pink porcelain bathtubs,
awaiting that first tinge of vibration
while Air Force One climbs over the Atlantic,
those wide-eyed advisors spitting scenarios
at the president, and he, hands on knees,
nodding this way for civilization,
and that way for a democracy
of bathtubs and basements
where last minutes drip their seconds
back down the ages, a fox terrier whines,
baby plays with a white soap dish,
and a tiny crystalline elephant
falls from its stand on
the knick-knack shelf,
and when it does come down to marking minutes
with no more time to play, pet the dog,
hug your family, and throw the watch away.


(Arkansas Magazine, Arkansas Democrat, January 13, 1985)