the end is near
and it can’t come fast enough
but i can still see
the year in its entirety
laid out like a lemonade stand
everything for sale
just a quarter
as the neighbors march by
and i make no money
i wait here for the moment
when it will all be resolved
when the new year
will be resolved, resolved, resolved
as if i need a solution
again, again, again.
perhaps when the ball drops
i will know what it will be.
do we fight this fight
or give in for one night?
do we stand our ground
and put up with the sound?
it’s hard to know what to do
when it isn’t us, but you
we can’t control what others want
only their actions tonight will haunt.
sleep will come when exhaustion wins
and we’ll forget this evening’s sins
moving on to the light of day
we’ll say what we want to say.
I was your age once
and when the teacher said,
Do your homework
and everyone sat
in giggling circles
of middle school talk,
abandoning all ambition,
I sat alone at my desk
and finished my assignments,
never once in three years
taking one home,
yet had a straight-A report card.
Perhaps that is why
I cannot relate to you,
finals coming down your pike
faster than the bullet train,
yet you sit in giggling circles
of apathy, no worries for home life,
your future, education passing
by before you can hold out your ticket.
I wish you could see yourself
ten, fifteen years from now,
remembering (forgetting) this time.
Perhaps you would look back
and wish you had taken
your seat on that train that passed,
or perhaps you will still sit
in giggling circles,
unaware of all that you have missed.
two months and half a day later
we have three grocery sacks
filled with homemade breads,
a peach box filled with apple butter jars,
miniature bags of homemade candy
and an early Christmas gift
for everyone we know.
it could be more, it could be less.
sometimes i wonder if it will ever be enough.
Dear Self-Absorbed Republicans,
Thank you once again
for denying public interests
and literacy
and all that is good
to us lower-class citizens
who can no longer use
the “public” library
that you voted down.
Go ahead and take your
free cards in
so you can stock up on
rated R movies
ignoring the masses
that surround you
and can no longer
check out thirty-three books
a week for our children
to benefit from.
One day,
just like Karl Marx predicted,
we will rise up
and show you that,
despite your measly offerings,
we are still strong,
still united,
and always willing
to fight our way to the top.
you are the eagle
you see in these shoes
smiling, ready
your claws on the ball
your dreams in front of you
waiting to walk you
into the future you’ve imagined.
with dry, windburned cheeks
and layer upon layer,
my headlamp prominent
as a beacon on my helmet,
i face this winter like no other.
it stands between now and the end,
these hills and my mountain,
and no matter how cold,
no matter the unending wind,
no matter the disapproving glances,
i will pedal my way to a better tomorrow.
December has crept in
on catlike toes, a seemingly soft
and adorable animal
with a wild side
that hunts in the night
and proudly places
mutilated prey on the doorstep
for its owners’ delight.
i’d say that August is better,
but with its expectant mews
and incessant need for
potty training, that baby
is far worse to care for
than a simple shoveling
of bones, blood, and fur
into the trash can.
perhaps in January
i can enjoy the soft purr
of an animal who knows its place,
and we can cuddle on the couch
under a blanket,
cat nip for him,
hot cocoa for me,
and remember how to relax.
i doubt i can write this
in between hundreds of
papers piled up like
cow dung on my desk,
but i’ll try.
they’re entertaining,
to say the least,
almost as good as
the television show
i’m about to watch
or the burlesque show
that my husband and i
enjoyed last weekend.
but not quite enough
to make a week night
pleasurable, inundated
with extra work, reminding
me just how grateful i
need to be that only occasionally
must i succumb to others’ realities.
the only thing better
than knowing we’ve helped the earth
just a tad
with our fresh cut tree
is coming home
from a long day at work
to a house
with a lingering smell of pine.
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