Plebiscite

Two versions of Mercury guard the door.

Maybe one is Apollo,

steam locomotive peeking out

from under his hand.

I want to believe they’ll be there

forever

marble gleaming in midday sun.

I want to climb thirty stories

and see all the way

to the suburbs where women

wave their kids on a bus.

I wonder if I could

see the extra hand that pours

the kettle.

Extra leg that walks the dog.

I don’t have to

look that far to see how boards

from building sites

fuel downtown barrel fires.

Autumn’s

in the air but something

is coming apart as we put it together.

Late in August

Somebody out there doesn’t love a pond

–they want a clear lake with a broad

smile and nonthreatening teeth.

They want downy wings and soft landings

on a soft surface somewhere near it.

But we don’t like it. There’s too

much yelling at the bottom. Too many

people starving and being shot for it.

It’s like a hell down there. Pressure clogs

our noses and hoses and strains

our necks and foreheads. We called it

a headache before we grew up

and learned the truth. Before we got

so proud of our looks. We didn’t think

there’d be a problem as long

as we didn’t ask too many mirrors.

Notes for a Small Audience

When crowd size matters and all you can do

is stay out of the rain and wish

you could open the door

and leave the rain behind because

it only has to be a little better than the way

it is on the other side

and if it

brings out the best in the worst of us

and you feel the pain

you can’t avoid

I hope you make yourself comfortable

and comfort the suffering

and try not to cause

too much of it and are glad

when you get yours that life isn’t all that.