For the guys down at the Venice Beach paddle tennis courts
I
Relatively few were killed today
In Sudan, Iraq, Kenya, and Chad.
Even Pakistan was mostly calm.
Bright sun, warm air, pert women—not bad
For a winter weekend at the beach.
A British priest, mentioning Islam,
Stirred holy wrath. Despite mass murders,
The U.S. is reasonably calm.
Ernie says my poems are dark; Paul says
They make his belly ache—“Why hurt us
With your dreary, dank, infernal buzz—
With your bleak polysyllabic words?”
The sun, the sea, pert women will endure;
So too, th’explosive rage—our Earth’s manure.
(2/10/08)
II
February 11-15, 2008
I really tried to write a happy poem,
But two days later things devolved to shit.
The Grammy’s dominated page one—numb
To the news of 21 more dead, hit
By a car bomb north of Baghdad—Sixteen
More died in Nineveh, wild Fallouja
Adds four. Jonah, of course, reluctantly,
Long since warned Babylon (hallelujah!).
Meanwhile, Kenyan machetes settle scores.
Zimbabwe toilet paper costs much more
Than printed money. Chad wants that grim horde
Of Darfur refugees out—now!—or war!
All this, and much, much more goes on despite
The bright, warm sun—rage ready to ignite.
(2/16/08)