Yarrow Balloon

Yarrow blizzard, like a fairy’s balloon
dandelion missiles on random trajectories
seeding manicured lawns like jagged files
or a haircut from a first week cosmetologist.

Ignore the vertigo
as the grass blades
and ants become
smaller and smaller
small as, well, ants,
it’s all just a matter of perspective –
you might expect them to look
up as self-congratulatory
you hover over head,
but the work’s down there
and ants are not grasshoppers,
nor do they need parades or shows.


Black Meander

The old cabin whinged,
its clapboard floor, nails half popping up
sagged here and there, like a drunkard
righted in corners by a hand to a wall;
outside a wind stirred,
and leaves piled up along the cracked
masonry, puffing little breaths
into the cold recesses of the root cellar,
hinges creaking noisily on the bulkhead.
There were howls in the orchard,
the bray of hounds echoing somewhere
over the lot, next to the hay field,
the dividing wall a drizzle of asphalt,
a meandering black course through rocks and thorns.

Viva La Revolucion

strange cheThe revolution started sixty years ago
Driving beat up trucks and rusty holsters
With satellite ambitions and fostered dreams
Like Daedelus they climbed the sky
They were angry with strong voices, young, so new
Ambitious, overturning, every cart toppled
Torn down every approbation, swearing every scar
Would be repaid in blood and famine and torture.
No razor sheared these Nazarites,
Delilah’s amorous looks were lost on them
The god of love, that fat little baby shot arrows off in vain.
Where grasshoppers pounced they plotted, schemed
Plodded daily through the muddy tracks,
Flies buzzing overhead, mosquitos biting,
Skin welting up like tattoos proclaiming their zeal,
The prophecy of their victory assured in the toil,
Razed, ruined, every enemy, every friend not close enough
Until they reached Havana, or Moscow, or San Salvador;
That promised land where the tyrant is the people’s tyrant,
A murderer is a patriot, and Che Guevara’s shirts are sold
At Disneyland.