I am, famously, a melancholic,
But this past week has been so brutal, seared
With tragedies that leap, hop, and frolic,
I found myself, three times, beset with tears.
Don’t get me wrong, I hardly ever weep
Despite the ugly world engrossed by dross,
Despite the wars, despite the mindless sheep
Skittering, scattering, despite the loss.
Forty battle-killed; seven murdered, shot
By the eighth, a suicide. Markets crashed.
Our plumbing failed, our washer went to pot;
Our country maimed by politicians’ trash!
Why tears now? Why now so hard to swallow?
Me? Strengthless, derelict—purged and hollow.
Body and mind (submerged by black offense)
Weep, drowning in a sea of impotence.
(8/11/11)