Stone Soup Croutons, 11-20-17, Homebound

Stone Soup Croutons is a weekly poem I write using lines and impressions butchered picked up from poems overheard from Stone Soup's open mic readers and features. I figure out a title (and sometimes the rest of the poem) later. You can read the other ones I've done since 2015 here. To paraphrase Lorne Michaels, this poem doesn't go up because it's ready, it goes on because it's Tuesday morning.

Thanks to Krystal Spencer and Curtis Luke for a fine double feature yesterday. It's the Monday before Thanksgiving, and my thoughts inevitably turned to the inevitable clashes between families that will take place this Thursday. This feeling emerged in spite of the overall feeling of unity among the audience and the readers.

Someday my mind will be in sync with the rest of the world--or at least the rest of the people in a small room. But until then, here is this week's poem.


Homebound

Spells only bind those
who believe, a shadow needed
to cast and catch another's shade.

Who are you talking about?
Sins roll by like end credits.
Salt pours on a still-alive bird.

Think you're a patriot,
no bird go unpardoned
Tell yourself it's a heroic act.

You show you are long-lived
by counting the rings
on your pale, unintegrated face.

B.C. means beyond caring
that you sit at the table's head,
everyone else starving or space.

Any equation saying it's wrong
you write off as new math
only children need to learn.

Your mail order bride
is American made
runs like a charm until grace.

Open your eyes, sees
who leans on who
to take a knee.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Special thanks to C. Anderson, Julia Carlson, Melissa Silva, Martha Boss, Michael Igoe and James Van Looy.