Photo by Frank Huang
May or Maybe
William Doreski
Forget-me-nots and buttercups
interact along the path.
I can’t hear or comprehend
their subtleties, but stones
creak and groan so loudly
they drown out my privacies.
The heat settles like a brood hen.
In Miami, people collapse
in the streets while government
smiles its tough alligator smile
and dispenses cups of water.
Here the desperation has yet
to arrive, our village shrugging
while our nearest city strips
to expose the stark white shirts
of dedicated office workers.
Tomorrow more thunder weeps
across the red and purple map
to snuff me if it catches me
lingering in flyblown forest.
I’ll stay home and study raw
but significant phonemes and hope
trees don’t collapse in homage
to a distance they don’t understand.
William Doreski
Forget-me-nots and buttercups
interact along the path.
I can’t hear or comprehend
their subtleties, but stones
creak and groan so loudly
they drown out my privacies.
The heat settles like a brood hen.
In Miami, people collapse
in the streets while government
smiles its tough alligator smile
and dispenses cups of water.
Here the desperation has yet
to arrive, our village shrugging
while our nearest city strips
to expose the stark white shirts
of dedicated office workers.
Tomorrow more thunder weeps
across the red and purple map
to snuff me if it catches me
lingering in flyblown forest.
I’ll stay home and study raw
but significant phonemes and hope
trees don’t collapse in homage
to a distance they don’t understand.