poetry

lessons in inhumanity

lessons in inhumanity

the morning started
with the video of the white woman
marshalling the cops to muzzle
the conscientious Black birdwatcher

discuss:
her use of adjectives, verbs
her tone and its cause
and its potential effect
his position, her approach
the thrashing struggle of her dog
the dog’s current disposition
his vocation

introduce:
the concept of ____ing While Black
(as in, Driving While Black,
Birding While Black)

reflect on:
our favorite bird guide of all time,
Dr. Kabelo Senyatso,
imagine him transported from the relative safety of
Botswana bush
to Central Park’s The Ramble
(racists less predictable than lions)
his life reduced to a color

consider:
what small action you can take
to honor Christian’s dignity

the day ended
driving through Denver
police on motorcycles blocking the street
around the Capitol
helicopter circling
tired protesters with sagging signs
hopeful enough to put their health
and safety on the line
to be counted for accountability

explain:
police brutality
and its unequal application
why anyone must affirm
that Black Lives Matter
that it is possible
for one person to kill another
without consequence

evaluate:
how much more bone-wearying
hatefulness and injustice
9- and 12-year-olds can absorb
in one 10-hour span
your privilege in having any part
in determining what they know about all this
your color and theirs making these conversations
seemingly optional

decide:
whether or not to share
the Denver Post’s crawl
rounding the building
as you drive by:
Denver police searching for driver
who struck protester
during George Floyd rally

when what’s left of everyone
is tucked in,
cry for all tonight’s damaged dreams

poetry

April 1 – Insured

April 1 – Insured

as I complete the morning ritual
of hanging the birdfeeders
I smile with relief –
today is our first day back in America
when illness might not ruin us

poetry

Latin vs. Norteamérica

Latin vs. Norteamérica

in Perú
plazas are a spot of shade and color
refreshing water tossed into air
benches to rest, watch the world, meet a friend
flowers to remind you the whole world isn’t barren
and a promise of salvation at one end

in America
plazas are strip malls

poetry

other people’s problems

other people’s problems

how am I harmed
by caged children
sleeping on floors?

how am I affected
by coal miners
ordered to dig more
while koalas burn?

how am I bothered
by the mother detained
at the airport
once the rules changed?

how am I inconvenienced
by the grandmother
cast off the voter rolls?

how am I troubled
by the appointed agency head
whose goal is
to dismantle the agency?

how am I damaged
by a man who grabs women
and gets elected
then appoints men who grab women
to be judges in the courts
where men who grab women
get off?

how am I diminished
when one boss
earns in one minute
more than three times
what a worker makes in a year?
and now that boss will keep more
while the workers keep less?

these are other people’s problems
not mine
my only worry is
I’m losing my humanity

poetry

Limbaugh

Limbaugh

O, America
how you reward
the most vile of men
and how I want
to finally quit you

all us women
battered by the words
of these irredeemable
powerful men –
we must leave

if you think
it can’t get worse, it will
it’s time to find a place
where people are calm and kind

we must up and go now
and take all our sisters
(and, yes, the moral men, too)
with us

we’ll just walk out
and leave the dishes in the sink –
leave them the mess of
guns and banks and greed –
until they’ve stolen it all from each other
and shot every living thing dead

then someday
when the coasts are finally clear
if the land calls loud enough
we may return

poetry

red white and blue flags

red white blue flags

estranged from a country
I’m supposed to call mine
a place meant to stand for something:
freedom opportunity refuge equality
all of those abandoned
subsumed by oligarchy’s will
I see in this new little land
a model that seems unreplicable
a country where the words are going wild
back to the rich Māori meaning-laden names
without the people really noticing
they’ve dropped the English that doesn’t serve
a country built on second chances
filled with nature souls
who want to be out in the bush
in their little kiwi baches
windows fronting the sea
they revel in feeling small
here is a place with an island stripped bare
the people say, together we’ll plant it
and they do
now it’s bush so thick
you wouldn’t believe it’d been farmed

I think of all the reasons it wouldn’t possibly work
at home
look at me – I can barely say Hinóno’éí
let alone speak one living word of it
look at our restoration attempts
riddled with weeds

here in Godzone country
everything seems easier
(except the quakes)

but the locals squint back and shake their heads –
No, it’s not.
New Zealand only found its Māoriness around 1996.
Before that, the Māori language was banned.
We’ve got a noxious weed problem, too,
she says, but we volunteers pull them.

maybe it’s not too late to change
to bring back some substantial bit of
what was lost
maybe our big godforsaken country
could grow a little less corrupt
a little more wild
a little more native
and whole

poetry

explaining hot dogs to Europeans

explaining hot dogs to Europeans

hot dogs
plump taut hot flesh
nestled in warm soft bread bun
studded with red (tomatoes) and white (onions)
and a ribbon of ketchup
(not toe-mat-oh sauce)
crack the sound of the bat
the waft of steam from the warm bath
from which they’re drawn
or the crisp black stripes of caramelized skin
the hot red sizzle and smoke of the grill
or the woodsmoke mixed with cedar duff
of camping in the northwest
the hot packet of meat comfortably warming your palms
on a cold spring Little League night
the sinful carnivorous pleasure
of the hot dog joint
in Boulder’s sanctimonious heart
Smith’s spicy thick hot dogs
a taste of my childhood
made by my neighbor/friend’s family for generations
Sara’s – the venerable greasy spoon at the peninsula
we’d brave the line then hurry
to mix hot dog, ice cream, soda, sand
with sun sinking into the lake
the first time I tasted a Hebrew National dog,
considering converting
spring training in Phoenix
watching the Cubs
learning from Chicago masters
to add tomato and onion

There’s nothing quite like an American hot dog
(if you’re American
and eat beef).