poor craftsmanship

expressions outside

the toolshed are

hammers in paralyzed fingers,

drills with no bits,

shovels on concrete.

dynamite is tucked far in

the corner.

tenacity will make it light,

but sometimes 

i settle for a single candle.

enough to let me see

how much i cannot reach.

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poem at lunchtime

dinnerbell rings into the

vacuum of hunger-stricken stomachs

and the growl of famine bellies

roar over the moans of pain and

the wails for just a bite of anything.

canned coca-cola ads and mcdonalds lovin’ it

and exxon cares marketing strategy 

comes through the pipes to not fill empty

glasses while capital one what’s in 

your wallet is slathered on recycled cardboard bread

with hellman’s mayonaise packets distributed

by a rep with love-handles.

the ragged bones masses with hands

like pitchforks stab at the ground

where Johnny Mayo Packet sows his

seeds in emerging markets, then

tear open the foil packet

and squirt the white goop down their

parched and barren throats.

hunger, hunger, hunger, hunger lives

in the fences they live within.

no one has seen an apple or banana 

for years. the bread rises like slime

using the flour they’ve been given.

sunlight hides behind green-grey

clouds that choke all the ground 

and all the water.

can of copypasta outrage

edit: [insert tragedy]

date: [here]

 

“our nation mourns”

“whoever carried out these despicable acts”

“we are resillient”

“heinous and cowardly”

“thoughts and prayers”

“mourners gathered at a candlelight vigil”

“first responders speak”

“you go home and hug your kids”

“like nothing i’ve ever seen”

“an all too familiar scene”

“the 911 call”

“shots rang out in the quiet town of”

“america is great because americans are strong”

“i thought, ‘oh my god. i’m gonna die.'”

“it started out like any other day.”

“i could just tell that she was gone and was never coming back”

“it sounded like firecrackers”

“i got down and i prayed and prayed”

“bells rang out; a sombre reminder of”

“there was blood everywhere”

“there was blood everywhere”

“there was blood everywhere”

“there was blood everywhere”

 

222cl

 

the bus stop

is a metal sign posted in front

of the electric company office.

the office was

converted from an old school.

the school was built with red bricks

and molded concrete sometime around

1910 or 20.

two wide columns surround the main

door.

the old school is a castle.

oak trees give shade to two concrete

block benches.

cars and trucks pass on 6th street where

the bus will be.

electric company employees

smoke cigarettes or vape

and wait at the curb of 6th street for a ride.

they don’t wait for a bus,

but for another friend.

i sit in the shade on the concrete block bench,

reading.

cars and trucks keep passing.

a shirtless man mumbling to himself

wanders into the street until a car

brakes and honks.

the honk echoes down concrete walls.

the sun starts to fall.

the bus rumbles in like a boxy

purple slug.

i get up from the bench and walk

to the sign that says,

‘bus stop.’

the three peeling blue stickers on the sign say

‘2’ and ‘2’ and ‘2’.

the driver turns on the orange blinking lights to

stop.

he lowers the door with an

hydraulic gasp and electric beeping.

i step on and take my seat.

we roll away.