If we only watch
Disney movies—
I said to my film class
through the little Zoom boxes—-
I’ll have to kill myself.
A mother overheard, (you know- Covid),
and wrote the principal
to complain.
Engels wrote:
the tool changes
the worker:
My face melts,
like cotton candy in water.
(February 16, 2022)
driving to work
the sun shatters
across the fogged windshield
blinding me
with it’s sharp light
I can’t see where I’m going
walking into the building
my mask fogs my glasses
the sun blinds me—
hammers clang and clang
on the black metal gate
I can’t see where I’m going
(January 6, 2022)
A few days past the winter solstice in the seemingly never ending worldwide pandemic, I am cleaning my house. In between running the vacuum across the rugs, and straightening the cluttered chaos of our everyday lives, I have been making tortilla soup, a tradition for the last ten or more years. Tonight, like last year, there will be no friends and extended relatives laughing over food and wine as we talk about politics, literature, art, and the lives of our kids. Tonight, only our grown children, their partners, and our two grandsons will arrive to celebrate Christmas, a religion I don’t believe anymore than the pagan symbols the Christians co-opted as a sign of hope for a better world to come: a hope, during the longest night of the year, that the sun will return again. I try not to fear for the future: the never-before-considered collapse of the U. S. as well as the fear caused by millions of people dying worldwide from this horrible virus. Instead I hope, a constant prayer, that we can overcome our pettiness and hate long enough to step from this darkness, and find enough joy in our lives, in our children, in each other, to pass back into the light. So, I clean my house and make tortilla soup, in hope that I will do so again. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.
Tomorrow I go back on contract for my 33rd year of teaching. Last year was one of the worst years because of distance learning and the lack of contact with my students. The Students are always the best part of teaching, and for the last eight years (starting my 9th) at Ann Richards, I have had the best students ever, every year. Last year it was important that we teach remotely. The students, their families, my fellow teachers, my family and friends were at risk to this horrible deadly disease. We stayed at home and did what we could through a screen full of little boxes, because we had to. This year there is a more deadly, more virulent version of the same disease, and even with the vaccine, which a too large group of people refuse to take, and with no vaccine for the under 12 group…. which means ELEMENTARY CHILDREN….. It is more dangerous than ever to go back. Yet, here we are.. going back into the classroom. Cases are already being reported at my school, and the district where my wife teaches, and across Travis county. I fear for what will happen over the next few weeks and months, as we go full bore back into the schools.I fear for my students. I fear for my grandchild who is starting in a pre-k program. I fear for my family. And all of this is not necessary, we could stay remote. At the very least the elementary schools should stay remote, until the under 12 children can be vaccinated. I don’t understand what is the end game of the politicians like the Texas Governor, who seem to want children to die. What is the benefit to them? I want to believe in a hell, so the people who are forcing this to happen have some place to go.
In these next darker days,
Shadows walk in laughter
upright and self-righteous,
and we have no where to hide.
Ash floods the bitter sky
filling the streets, the rooftops,
our lungs with thick death.
With no time to cast bones,
our glazed eyes watch
the portents unfold into heaven.
Panicked, we rage in the street,
or cower next to a wall,
a silent witness to the fall.
(September 17, 2020)
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (71)
some time after sunrise I wake
go downstairs book notebook
pen in hand make coffee take
my meds check various
social platforms eat some thing
shower get dressed
sometimes read sometimes write
sometimes nap wake
cook dinner wash the dishes
watch TV listen to music and
then after some time go to sleep
(July 2, 2020)
by
from a work in progress: “Process, Not a Journey” (67)
our earth wobbles its way
about the sun like a drunk
unsure of her footing
moves again
toward the bar
*
day by day minute by minute
plods toward darkness
for the next six months
each day grows darker
by one minute
*
not quite disturbing
the dullard doves
who coo complacently
on the fence
–
cardinals and jays
fussing constantly
slip after each other
between tree branches
–
I watch and listen
to this dance
for hours
and can do nothing
*
as it was in the beginning
world without end
(June 23, 2020)
limbo
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (61)
months of laconic weeks drift
past as the centuries two-step
a dance macabre about the village
square like old lovers late at night
dance slowly arms entwined
in a practiced grace
your death’s not important
to them any more than mine
only this dance matters
the horror of it lies
in the death head’s grin
which does not pretend
to hide its deception
there is no skin to map
its laughter into flowers
across our blind eyes
no dead platitudes to act
as balm for our world in flames
(June 14, 2020)
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (61)
months of laconic weeks drift
past as the centuries two-step
a dance macabre about the village
square like old lovers late at night
dance slowly arms entwined
in a practiced grace
your death’s not important
to them any more than mine
only this dance matters
the horror of it lies
in the death head’s grin
which does not pretend
to hide its deception
there is no skin to map
its laughter into flowers
across our blind eyes
no dead platitudes to act
as balm for our world in flames
(June 14, 2020)
Spring belies the fear
The birds flit from tree to tree—
Not enough bourbon
(I know this makes light of a deadly virus. It was a result of a work related thread of haikus. I liked it enough)
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