Yesterday morning I read with morbid fascination
That “more than 40% of insect species are declining”
And nature’s ecosystems are at risk
Of a “catastrophic collapse.” 
In my $70,000 electric car on the way to work
(charged by solar panels
On my 3,500-square-foot suburban home),
I listened with morbid fascination to the news
About Trump’s latest efforts to entertain
Our restless, bored, attention-starved nation.
At the office, the social media feed on my $1,000 smartphone
Told of another indictment, another mass shooting,
Famine in Yemen, celebrity divorces, photos of well-heeled
Adult men with shoe polish on their faces—
Distractions from my nonprofit job tackling poverty
And injustice in America.
Back at home I was too worn-out to exercise, or read,
Or work, or write:
Instead I watched with empty fascination
Three-hours of online videos—
Comedy routines, “epic fails,” cycling races,
Cycling how-to guides.
And then at last I fell asleep pining for the new bicycle,
Expensive, carbon-fiber, lightweight,
That just like losing weight,
Just like being well-read,
Just like working 24/7,
Just like publishing a magnum opus,
I knew would never bring to life the ideal me
Which I glimpse in my fleeting, silent hours…
Food Pantry in Winter: A Visit
The cold light of winter filters through dusty windows,
Mixes with the buzzing of fluorescent lights.
I hear the slow shuffle of frayed jackets rustling,
Half-broken chairs straining under the weight
Of half-broken men and women and children, chipped
Tabletops holding like Atlas a world of Styrofoam
Cups and plates, plastic forks and knives,
Warm meals consumed by frigid bodies, minds, souls.
There are places where hope settles like leaves
And where the rake is withheld.
What have I to provide beyond my embrace and my wealth?
By virtue of birth I may come and go, migrate or nest.
I grow weary and tried. A balmy sleep is mine to enjoy.
Pausing, I brace myself against the frozen wind
And, still shivering, go home.
The words are clear, o so clear!
Patriotism blaring from a bullhorn,
Justice promised in steel blindly shaped.
“The threat, the response,
The rule of law…” the President drones,
And the people listen, how they listen!
To his faultless monotone.
While far away, a single sibilant drone–
By a nation’s indifference flown–
Releases the cargo its people built
Without a thought for their pending guilt;
And the survivors, mingling with the dead,
Shout at this flying thing
That most human of questions:
“Will you atone
For this death delivered in monotone?”