New Poem: THE OLD PERSON’S VACCINE AVOIDANCE HAIKU

 afraid afraid yes

 should I believe media

 trust a Democrat 

 

New Poem: THE YOUNG PERSON’S VACCINE AVOIDANCE HAIKU

 I don’t need it No

 I don’t want it Don’t Need It

 How did I get sick

New Poem: COUNTING

 lots of counting going on

 number of white blood cells

 number of red blood cells

 days until second bone marrow biopsy 

 weeks until stem cell harvest

 week or so after that for stem cell replant 

 hospital stay followed by weeks in hotel 

 then a count of platelets determining recovery

 >

 hoping everything works out

 so I can return home

 and count the weeks until

 a version of normal arrives

New Poem: RETRAIN THE POLICE

 leave the robot dogs in the equipment yard

 strip off the military gear if you’re not SWAT

 melt the tanks into scrap metal for infrastructure 

 treat Black and Brown people just like White people 

 learn to count to twenty before drawing taser or pistol

 and stop treating your poisonous apples as if they should get

 a Medal of Valor for wearing a uniform they don’t deserve

New Poem: RED TO ORANGE AND BACK TO RED

 it’s springtime 

 it’s the annual celebration of Resurrection 

 it’s the local supermarket telling customers:

 sanitize your carts your own damn self

 it’s all the beach towns eager for spring break $

 get as many college kids on the piers as possible 

 before the media optics look too bad

 and we have to limit access and hand out masks

 >

 on the West Coast,

 we read about infection spread in the Midwest

 but we—again—want normal before we’re ready

 begging for a few more gallops before the storm clouds gather

  

New Poem: POEM OF CLUBS PART TWO

 yes, it’s true:

 one time I was in a coffeehouse 

 where a distinguished regional poet

 read a poem mocking young people

 who turned their foreign cars into Art on wheels

 >

 he used the term “rice burner”

 and the poem’s intro ended with the punchline 

“It’s just a fucking Honda”

 >

 what did I do, you may wonder

 I kept my mouth shut afterwards 

 because the distinguished poet

 once included me in an anthology he edited

>

 and I felt I still owed him something 

>

 and I’m ashamed of my cowardice, my complicity 

 wanting too too much to belong