Chair and table (a poem)

Chair the board, table the argument.
Breath is held against my head, a wrenching scent
Consumes and fouls that trigger finger, this gun
Compunction wrestle fleet foot shoots me out from under
That rock where I was hiding, time abiding me
As tender as a paper tree whose leaves were cut by children.

Dropping now all around us, wiped away like tears
In tissue dragging bunching up in wads of mud, a wrapping
For this fine reunion, Donald plays his vices, wounded
In his soul, there is no judgement here of course, my God
Let's go the vole and peach pit everyone unlike us.
Death becomes a wall of ficus, potted in horse.

My presence goes unnoticed at the bar, inside the courthouse
Where again yet somehow shorter than a mile
A sentence is defiled and prison greets that young man.
Burdened with too much aggression, torn asunder he and
Sessions burning to go home, forget they ever walked upon
This land is yours, no it's mine now, ain't that grand.

(B)

A bilious cloud

It seems that the time has come for a revisit to this dear country of mine, so painstakingly built upon the backs of slave labor, bloody wars for power grabbing, intolerance for those who look, behave or think differently than one looks, behaves or thinks.

My handiwork is everywhere, has been for centuries, and continues to keep the upper hand despite so many good people trying to create a social order whereby equality, compassion, kindness and I shudder to say it, but perhaps even love! are the dominating forces ruling the land.

These are special days indeed, having ensured that a leader has been elected whose repugnance with simple decency is voluntarily spewed across the land in a bilious cloud, day after day after day. I'm laughing so hard at times that my sides hurt.

It may be one of my greatest success stories, which is why I'm considering taking human form again and walking amongst you all, being a quiet participant in a crowd of louts shouting down someone who has been persecuted, watching from across the street as another young black person is gunned down and turning on the news to see how sensationalism overwhelms any sensible reporting.

So you'll be hearing from me often. No promise, of course, I would only break it if I made one, as that is what they are for, right? Right.

Yours,

B