The Usual

I remember when he invited
Me over to his house,
More like a mansion as
We pulled up to it in
His chauffeur-driven car.

He was one of the boys
I would watch lording over
Everyone else at school,
Tousled but neat at the
Same time, commanding.

He got out without thanking
The driver, walked past
The butler and motioned me
To his room in some far-off
Wing upstairs.

Walking around his domain,
The sheer excess,
A maid appeared and asked
If he needed anything,
“The usual,” he snorted.

Manifest Reality

At the agreed upon time,
The group meets,
A ritual repeated
Over centuries,
Solemn reverie,
August observance.
Barely acknowledging
Each other, a smattering of
Small talk bows to
The more important
Business at hand.
Intense concentration,
Frustration builds as
Unmitigated determination to
Conquer becomes and
Exercise in manifest reality.
Words acquire barbs,
Vying for position,
A flaccid display of
Misplaced bravado and
Unregulated juvenility.

Race Thing

It’s reported that
The whole race thing
Is really not much of
A concern, bordering on
An afterthought for many,
Easily dismissed,
Of no real consequence,
A very different view
From having epithets
Shouted at you or being
A permanent suspect,
Second-class something,
Berated, harassed,
Handcuffed, maced,
Clubbed, shot for
Being exactly as
You were born.

Could

They chopped down the
Beautiful tree that
Graced their yard.
Not because it was sick,
Or encroaching on something,
But because they could.

Stain

Startled and enraged
By the light of progress,
They scurry out from
Their hiding places to
Shriek for their right
To hate, impose their
Distorted dreams of
Inequality and fear.
Artifacts from a
Shameful past,
Idealizing the
Trespasses of their
Forebears, standing up
For malevolence,
A ghastly stain,
Total absence of
Compassion, love.

Unsaid Things

It’s painfully obvious
That there are many
Unsaid things that he
Needs to express but
That he will never
Articulate because it’s
More important to win
Than to love.

Harmony

They gather in all
Corners of the world,
From small villages
To big cities,
From mountaintops to
Beaches to forests,
From living rooms to
Public spaces,
Young and old,
Light and dark,
Big and small,
Dancing,
Joyfully expressing
Their common
Humanity,
Celebrating
Harmony,
Peace,
Love.

Not Her Audience

On a balmy summer afternoon
She sits tending her booth,
Her lovely paintings on display.

A few people walk by and
Half-smile on their way
To somewhere else.

Others comment or
Ask questions, making
Polite small talk.

Occasionally, someone
Seems genuinely interested
In one of her works.

At the end of the day,
She realizes that this
Was not her audience.

Numb

Like a bunch of awkward
High school students,
They stand around fidgeting,
Desperately trying to one-up
Each other with mundane,
Sleep-inducing stories
About banal experiences
Followed by raucous
Self-conscious laughter.
One guy raises his voice,
Gesticulating wildly,
Hoping the nearby ladies
Will notice, another rambles on
About how big his business is,
Another drinks his fifth cocktail
To numb the meaninglessness.