For Those Born to the Sound of Bombs

- Be kind,

Whoever you may be, relieve our trouble,

Tell us under what heaven we’ve come @ last…

-Virgil

Daily routine in the Catskills:

Check the wifi connection.

Duck & dodge The American Beech,

Musclewood & Birch eventually blown down,

Besieged in a barrage of ice & wind.

Electricity comes & goes

& there is a waiting that occurs

That is central to the heart

Of insignificance & distraction.

It is a blanket statement to say:

We are In a flat-out sprint from the city

& the snow of endless television sets,

All of that can find one anywhere now.

The pestilence of information & opinion

Is the first thing I see in the morning

& the last thing thing I see @ night

 & though the sky can be multitudinous 

Grey or blue In all directions we are beneath

Something more minuscule & sinister.

Look for ticks attached to the skin:

Ballooned & fat w blood siphoned 

Quietly in the tiny cave of armpit

Or inner-thigh typically reserved 

For lover or caring mother

Who usually find out, eventually, exactly 

what is wrong before the scrutinized do.

An affliction parasitic in nature

But truly alive in symbiosis.

Microscopic trouble 

balanced on a blade of grass.

@ the risk of sounding banal or trite

I will say this: It is in Love we find out 

What we are worth or risking or reaching for

In this godforsaken place where children

Through no fault of their own

Or anything they did

Burst into this world screaming 

& their first attempt to connect

Is drowned out by the sound of bombs.

The Endless Ring of War, the blind desire 

For gold always ending In dust.

Recently I lost control in my kitchen

During an argument w my wife

& I threw two packages of crackers 

To the floor & stomped them to crumbs.

In the aftermath & debris I learned

I could not walk & my right foot,

I thought @ the time, was broken.

It turns out I had damaged the nerves

& was forced to lie on my back for a week.

I lied & told everyone it was a freak accident.

My wife stayed silent & my daughter 

Wondered why there were no more crackers.

Some houses are louder than others

& some are just rubble where they used to be.

In the nest I saw a fire & three baby birds

Slid down the tin awning to the hard earth

Hoping they would land safely 

Or better yet take to the air & be free.

But the end is exactly what you might think.

I hope you end up somewhere better 

Than where you started, I hope it gets better.

Shame on us.