Here's a poem I published in my anthology, Old Man Walking, in 2021. Cataloging my poems, I rediscovered it a few minutes ago, and just wanted to share, as a change of pace. Enjoy!
Night Stockers
Who sweeps up the spits and chews?
Who repairs old worn out shoes?
Who cleans toilets in the night?
Who restocks after every flight?
Who makes sure that the shelves aren't bare?
The people who were never there.
What's In a name? Throughout history, many world leaders have had colorful and descriptive, if not always flattering, names. Among them are William the Silent, Ivar the Boneless, Vlad the Impailer, Charles the Bald, Pippen the Hunchback, Charles the Hammer, Pepin the Short, Louis the Do-Nothing, Archibald the Grim, Childeric the Idiot, Ivan the Terrible, Louis the Fair, and Louis the Fat, to name a few. Now it seems we can add a new name to the list: Donald the Demented, or if you prefer, Don the Deranged.
From Robert Graves, one of my favorite World War One Soldier-Poets, a change of pace: “There's no money in poetry. But then, there's no poetry in money, either.”
Which leads me to a poem I rediscovered, that I wrote in 2018 but only seems more relevant now.
Mad
I'm glad I only get mad
At gadgets and Donald Trump:
Machines that don't cooperate,
A Presidential chump.
I yell out loud at appliances
And scream inside my head
To mourn our country's sacrifice:
Democracy is dead.
