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Michael Lee Johnson
USA Bathroom Visitor A horsefly travels the world of my bathroom. Stops at the kitty litter box on occasion for refueling. One thousand round trips including the bathtub area, and buzzes past the toilet bowl. Steady pilot, good mileage. Frequent flier miles. I swat his journey to an abrupt end. -2007- Lost in a Distant Harbor Love, once beside me now lost in a distant harbor calls out into the night crawls back into the fog. -1975- Jesus Knelt in Grief Over the Death of Children Breaking out of silence, Jesus knelt to his knees in moist desert sand, wrote messages with his fingertips to children- “water is water, toys are toys, but by my fingers burn with life, though I toil over tombs with grief and tears- I’m the living and I am the dead. I was born to life to bring new hope into the death of children. I’m the messenger of the morning sun the prayer book between the morning dew, the play fields of your daily adventures. When I kneel here again, the end will be the end. Fire will be willed into my words. Driftwood and sand will turn to stone. I drag my fingers across hot sand once more; morning will come without a daybreak. Birds will no longer sing, and crickets lose their songs.” -1999- In This Place, Poverty Falls In this place night falls with Linda. Wrinkled life, wrinkled wishes race across her face. Torment bristles with each morning; nailed to a cross within her house, Linda lives. Everything is a cycle, a charity or gifts. Poverty is an odor, it is a smell her nose itches with. In the yard, poverty grass, near the old car, poverty grass. Poverty tastes like copper metal on her tongue. On her this journey with no applause, no gas, Nicor shut that off. No money honey, laziness shut that off. Her house is full of bills & debris. With no relief a few dollars shrink in her hand harmlessly. Rest, wait in welfare lines, manipulate the coin machines and the local pharmacy drug store. Electric heaters keep the old house warm and the multiple pets alive. The microwave heats the plastic salad bowl filled with water for sponge baths. The left over water mixes with hydrogen peroxide that brushes her teeth. Her body pale and spirits bail out with pills. Groceries are checks Nourished by food stamps. Walls come closer in at night. The wind outside roars with stolen property inside. Dreary days, step into depression’s chamber; a slice of her mourning pronounces her dead. -2007- Copyright,
Michael Lee Johnson. |