All Fall Down

• Samaras twist and twirl their way to the ground.
• The shower of green just will not stop. It’s like
• A toddler spinning, spinning. All fall down.

• Spring’s run hot, then cold, this time around.
• Tornadoes one day, snow the next. All the while,
• Samaras twist and twirl their way to the ground.

• I think I saw someone who scares me, downtown
• Today. I thought he was locked away, locked tight.
• My thoughts are spinning, spinning, all fall down.

• Samaras twist and twirl their way to the ground
• As if this were a normal spring day. Not quite.
• I’d pray, but I lack faith in this faith I’ve found.

• When my little boy spins, I worry he’ll fall down
• On something sharp. He doesn’t see what I
• See — corners, corners everywhere. And now

• Another threat. So much for peace of mind.
• Dear God, protect my family. Please. At least try.
• Samaras twist and twirl their way to the ground
• Just like a toddler spinning. All fall down.

Hot Psalms

• Right-now, just-right,
• Hot psalms for all
• That ails you and yours.

• Podiatry, angina,
• Low or zero a.p.r.,
• Corporate malfeasance.

• We got it all. From
• Earnest pleas to
• Whiny-ass complaints.

• All modulate between
• The urge to scream
• And that of being mute.

• You must be fully human.
• You must say one every day.
• Please note: response time varies.

Like the Last English Guy in India

• He doesn’t admit it, doesn’t call it sweat,
• But there he sits, damp as a napkin wrapped
• Around a gimlet (or whatever it was they had
• To have cold, thus have their coolies bring the wet
• Containers, dripping as they ran. Their ice —
• Commodity more precious there than salt.)
• Mildly tragic for him (for others, much worse)
• for this to end. He’s sure it’s not his fault.
• Hear how he rails, his accent sharp as a knife —
• A scimitar? A lance? A jailhouse shiv?
• And lest we mock his clinging to a life
• We think he didn’t earn, we must admit
• We every one of us take turns at this —
• We want today to not be what it is.

Marnie Bullock Dresser lives in Spring Green, Wisconsin, with a fair amount of clutter, one son, two cats, and one husband. Marnie is almost 50 years old. Marnie is a self-declared “dorky white woman” who blogs at marniere.wordpress.com.