Poetry

Atlas shrugged, farted, coughed
Scratched his crotch and squatted.
The ball rolled off his shoulders;
That was a relief. Comparatively speaking
He has no beef with living. Unlike
That guy Prometheus, his liver is intact

A polymath-in-waiting; Sir Francis Galton,
Proffered the ungainly theory of Eugenics.
That was 1883 in his now infamous book,
“Inquiries into Human Fertility and it’s Development”.

Grieving Gaza fathers fling kids’
paper kites on fires as Israel’s armed
force shoots down what stray winds
blow past yellow lines

Salty tears drown fleeting joy for
distraught tented children.

Listening to the falling rain, the space
between its drops, like the pause
between thoughts silence. I watch
a pair of goldfinch hover
over the Russian Sage like the twin stars

drops fell, as hand let go of hand, light rain
to begin, then the long hours pouring down, drenched,
to the skin it’s said, far from your bed, from hers,
the wet ground between them growing the distance,
creeping up through your shoes…

Naked, just out of the bathtub,
Little Owen jumps on his new trampoline.
He flaps his arms furiously,
faster and faster.