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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.

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