Monthly Archives: February 2018

Late Winter

A late February snow has
the near world in its sequester

At Starbucks the barista imitates
a bird calling across the water


(Here is a bit of humor for those of us with Scottish ancestry. It is made with as many anagrams of the word “consist” as I could jam together.)

To my fellow Scots
who sit in a snit
you sots on cots
whose only icon is cost

You stoics who won’t
enjoy the tonics of sin
You nits with the tic
You sons of scions
hold onto your coins
and don’t give a toss
what other snots
may do with
their tons of tin

You’re a hurdie if you run a con
on your sis or your sons, you say
but tis a far bigger sin
–a super sonic sin–
to spend
“It will give you cysts
it will”

To you I say–
only wee ones

We Have Fed You

To the ones with wings of gilded wax
and solid platinum bone spurs
on feet of of the finest clay

I say, you are not gods
you are one of mine
Your loans are due

Your time in the fire is coming
and we have fed you
a thousand years