Stone Soup Croutons is a weekly poem I write using lines and impressions selected from Stone Soup Poetry'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.
I also have a book collecting the best of my first year of poems. Click here to purchase it.
This poem was as much fun to write as I knew it would be. Been seeing a lot more Palestine graffiti while walking to work. That and the recent bombing of people dispensing food gave a jolt to this. Kind of new what the ending was going to be like because of Rich's set. Just needed the rest of the readers to give it form.
Thanks for reading.
Mourning Commute
in coffee shop could stay
in head long enough to
to drown out those dying
in background. Refusing
to learn names makes them
resurrect and scream tomorrow.
Like a million kids out for
afternoon recess in a minefield.
Would sacrifice favorite
childhood mascot or scorch
local earth for moment of silence,
minute to dance to lack of echo
in conscience. But now time
gets fickle enough to make clock
as much as meaningless totem
as cross, blinks and makes entry
into work late. Job begins badly,
patrons hurl blame as if candy
hearts. All line up to be the Dad
no one needs. No time for porn
on work WiFi. Only enough for
only rebellious morning thought,
asking why all world's bombs
never hit where they're needed.
Special thanks to Mark States, Ken Johnson, Jan Rowe, Bill Nevins, Erica Deweese, Bil Lewis, Bob Reeves, Trey Gring, Jonathan S. Baker, Ethan Mackler, Bram MacLihr, Marissa Prada, James Van Looy and special feature Rich Boucher.
1 comment:
In a war for peace
Where's a bomb really needed?
You step on a mine.
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