I know that it isn’t Word Wednesday, but I woke up to snow in Southern Maine on April 28 and a lack of motivation to write much besides and endless stream of cuss words and other “get off my lawn” – ish grumbling.

So instead, here’s a new poem that I was going to save until tomorrow.

bon voyage

holes poked in the stage curtain sky,
shine down on me as comets
chase their tails -

money, in its various incarnations
being shifted around the globe
in elected electrons -

down here, it’s steady as she goes
while first class places another bet
on catastrophe and low prices -

only the poor bastards up there
in the crows nest know for sure
what’s coming -

& we stopped listening
to them 
a long time ago.