Monday, January 16, 2012

Sometimes it gets there
with less of a trumpeted burst
than a tepid,
and expected,
Sometimes it’s a bowl
of cold rice
with no meat and no gravy,
a glass of flat water,
no lime and no ice.
Sometimes a country that doesn’t
love life
forgets the confetti
but still sends a cab;
sometimes the boys at the lab
ship the vaccine and pocket
the profit,
lick their fingertips
Once in a lifetime
a chorus of persons
will dog-sled Alaska
or tunnel through stone
with a great oom pah pah,
but mostly it’s someone
who’s weary and common
slogging dumb mud
to middling hurrah.

Sunday, January 1, 2012