The Weather-girl’s Pet Hurricane -by Robert Gardner

                       The dog she feeds till newsrooms drop,
                       The pit-bull no mere smile can stop
                       Is an old tarantula down in the weeds,
                       But something her boyfriend-broker needs
                       To fund their many luxurious perks
                       Even when the weather-canine hurts.
Advertisements

Too Old for the Chase

It’s like ‘every man for him/herself’
with an urgency in the air & our surrounds,
I play ‘grownups’ once in a while for a wile
when adulthood has worn me down to rough edges

My mind can be a desolate place,
it scares me, such a tangled space
Until the stars do shine I stick around
& count the blessings of hallowed ground
while visiting the lost & found
‘til daybreak comes with its attendant sounds

The Mercenaries -by Robert Gardner

‘Progress’, you see, is their potpourri,
Their cocaine and heroin rolled into one,
Their best sushi platter
Left out in the sun
Or maybe a pig on a marathon run –
It’s what politicians
Enshrine with visions
And new regulations
For every damn nation
And radio station –

‘Better’ is a dream they dream in the Mall,
A pampered creature in their cattle stall,
A fresh hari-kari that never quite ends,
Another old Mayor who taxes and spends
Long after his party has lost its appeal,
Like a scarecrow guarding
A soccer field,
Where wisdom’s better crop must yield
To a team of thrusting beaks.