Why am I allowed two?
By Candlelight
One of these days
I'll write my epic poem.
It will, I am certain,
span pages, generations, and continents,
be a thing to strike fear
into high school students everywhere.
For now, however,
when I have nothing to say,
it seems best to confine myself
to just a few lines
scratched out by candlelight.
Poison
September 27, 2008
I remember when poison
was clearly marked
with a skull and bones,
and, drunk by grinning cartoon characters,
resulted in Xed eyes, a dramatic expiration,
eyes uplifted to heaven,
fanfared closing credits,
and then they're back
for another improbable episode.
Like many lessons learned on Saturday
mornings, this one falls rather short.
Sugar Smacks are not a complete breakfast,
and knowing is much,
much less than half the battle.
This poisonous man invades
our safe places with bows,
eyes uplifted to heaven, and servile
words that fool no-one -- unless, perhaps,
he fools himself, truly believes
that poison unseen, hidden away,
imagined gone,
miraculously transubstantiates
into grape juice,
that those of us who have drunk
deeply of this
too-many-years aged vintage
spontaneously spring back up
for another slapstick-filled
show, brought to you
by Matel and Kool-Aid,
and by Arsenic,
part of this complete breakfast.
Flying Eagle Water Colour, 12 Colours
September 14, 2008
It seemed a shrewd trade
at the time -- a bulging
Ziploc bag of stickers
for a box of Flying Eagle
Water Colours, with magical
names like Prussian Blue, Vermillion,
Chrome Yellow Mid.,
and Emerald Green.
Charles disagreed, assured me
that the allure of Cobalt Blue
would fade, and I would yearn
for my "Kick Me" stickers.
He felt I should have invested
more wisely. For example,
give him the stickers, and then bask
in the Yellow Ochre warmth
of a good deed, done for a loyal friend.
I relinquished to Andrea the 1001 Funny Stickers,
accepted the exotic hues
from far away China
to reflect the Lemon Yellow rays of my imagination
in more than oriental splendor.
But then, for twenty years,
not much happened.
The Burnt Sienna petrified.
The Carmine coagulated a little.
The box travelled
with me across an ocean
and through five or six moves,
never used for anything
but a conversation starter,
until I caught the Light Green
eyes of my artist,
and knew, at last, that
I had traded well.
I expect, now rediscovered, the paints
will quickly be used up, turning many
Black and White shadows
into a spectrum of
images so long boxed up and carried around
unseen.
Reasonable Doubt
September 21, 2008
I don't remember
of what he stood accused --
only that I sat in judgment,
declared him guilty
beyond reasonable doubt,
sent him to serve time
for an infraction of which
I had no conclusive proof,
just the word of others
hardly above reproach themselves,
of whim I had
plenty of doubt.
We asked just one question,
my eleven colleagues and I:
What constitutes reasonable doubt?
How much doubt, exactly,
is reasonable, your honor?
His honor declined to answer --
insisted, in fact, that his refusal
to answer was, itself,
a fundamental pillar of the phrase
"A Jury Of Your Peers."
We were not his peers.
He, poor and dark,
trouble-stained and life-weary.
We, privileged and pale,
inclined to have unreasonable doubts,
based more in the fact that
we were not his peers
than in any facts presented
by those more his peers
than we.
So we determined,
the twelve of us,
that our doubt was reasonable,
and stripped this young man
of his youth and manhood.
One of us said
what the rest of us thought:
If he hadn't done this,
surely he had done something.
I have no doubt
that given more opportunity
and less doubt
this young man would have given
us more opportunity to doubt.
I have no doubt
that that's not reasonable.
I can't claim credit for this. This is a senryu by Jimmy, our favorite wait-person at The Pub, where we go whenever we can afford to.
You may dream your dreams
in C++, but I dream
mine in A Minor.
