USA

acbroome@yahoo.com

thanksgiving (a reflection)
dedicated to Nick Cade.

if i had a job
no one but my family would know
there is nothing to tell in advertising
nothing a image couldn't describe
a happy face above
the latest value in tires
a baby with a big smile
trucking down the interstate
in the middle of a tire.
it's all a label
or an idea for something that may kill a simple
manifesto
or achieve whatever it is i need
you need or someone's grandmother. maybe they spin good
yarn
nothing for me to say today
i love you across all fifty states
you are not like my father,
you hold my hand when no one else is around
when i am uncertain about the global economy or the
stability of the market
for crystal golf balls
you just like to write nonsense
as if it is important to anyone who reads
the post.
silly shit like, "you don't have to run like a horse
to hurt like one."
to me it is when i sit here and stare
at your long nose and bad sentences because I have
nothing to do and care about nothing just in this
moment or the next,
i have no murderous desire
when you say,"my bullet missed a deer today.
i will try again tomorrow."


thanksgiving
i didn't help her today
as the blood drooled down her temples
ankles wet with the sweat of 'am i going to die"
something about the pattern on her dress
crowded with flowers
yellow, white, green, red
some kind of florescent background
stifled regular light as i stared at her
left me thinkin of only black
like she deserved to sit on that street corner
while she gave blood to the pavement
streets are full of life right at this moment.
cars windin around a bind
over fifty sirens fleedin in the other direction.
i'm not alone.
prostitutes whisper beside her,
"she stepped to close to the curb, moans for the
bracelet her daughter worked overtime at the salon to
afford and mourns for even the taxi driver who has a
job but can’t buy the latest in home security
she sits and waits
people are good
born that way
never thinkin, " i don't want to get involved"
i look to the cop friskin a drug dealer
just another day on ponce de leon.
he joined the force for excitement
she's on her back now
i take the only free garment I have
just a dirty little handkerchief to block my forehead
from strands of hair that never do sit right.
as i hold her head up to apply the necessary pressure
she smiles.
knows god exists
and closes her eyes
nothin i could have said would have changed her mind

© All Copyright, Anna C. Broome.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.