— Barbara Saxton
How I wish it would rain–
buckets and rivers and seas:
all this confounded sun, this fair air
Make no mistake: The world changed
overnight. Or maybe trapped rats
started stinking more openly,
our best BandAids overwhelmed
by the pus of long-festering sores.
Oh, you want “real change,” do you?
You think careless throws
of the dice at casino felt tables
will actually help you? You crave apology,
need compensation…for what grievance, exactly?
Have you been enslaved, unjustly deported,
profiled, perhaps groped by your boss?
Is it our fault you chose to stay on board
leaky ships that were already sinking?
Do you think demi-gods, knights
in rusty brown armor will save you?
I’ve seen you, back-slapping each other
and crowing in red baseball hats.
But guess what? He only wanted to win,
then feather his comb-over cap
with the tears of our children.
God, why doesn’t it rain? Maybe I’ll go out
in the sunlight to plant late fall seedlings.
Sugar peas will shoot up from the soil in a week,
as if nothing has happened.
My harvest feeds needs
for the simplest solutions.