To the Point

There comes a time in every epoch when pragmatism simply evolves into extreme acquiescence and surrender to the forces of apathy and do-nothingness, a guarantor of the status quo in all of its easy, democratic criminality--its fortress of greed. You could line up all the pols in the U.S. in a straight row and examine them head to toe and not find a single man or woman capable of admitting, never mind ending, the corruption of their vocation--Buddy Dooley

Monday, March 3, 2014

Poem















Photo by RP Thomas


Uncertain Forms

A vague and incomplete lettering
on a wooden fruit box demonstrates that
work both nourishes and tames the soul.

A journey has come to pass and
the flatbed’s driver is at rest, perhaps
drinking coffee in a roadside café,

Where he talks to friends about gasoline
prices and the death of another man
from a nearby town, whose

Life had taken a downturn when he
lost his second son in an accident that
winter, and a pall settles along the

Counter next to the sugar dispensers
and napkin holders—all of this before
the waitress cries out.

A kid has stolen a white five-gallon
fuel container from the flatbed parked
in the lot and is running  away now,

Away from the law. Running in the direction
of Talent, and someone says the kid is a football
star and headed for big trouble.


TS

No comments:

Post a Comment