Jim Lewis Verse-Virtual 2016 November

November 2016

These poems are the result of a constant barrage of news, of opinions, of conflict, of divisive rhetoric. TV ads. Facebook posts. Conversations at work. This is my America.

we cannot pretend

that canaries have evolved
into pleasant little creatures
who inhale methane and
exhale oxygen, thereby
subverting their miserable
purpose in the mine shaft
that is our society

we cannot pretend that
there are no more warnings
no flutterings, no anxious trills
or that what stills the canary
will not touch us because
we are privileged and proud
and pretty much white

we cannot pretend that justice
wears a blindfold any longer—
that sightless bronze woman
with her swinging balance
is a myth created by heartless men
who hated more than anything
the canary's call to flee
before the quiet death arrived

we cannot pretend that we
are untouched when any one of us
is fair game for the methane
if another one goes down
it's only time and circumstance
before we all die, choking

a man with cloudy vision

medically speaking, there could be
dozens of diagnoses to choose from
infections, old age, exposure to
chemicals, heat, or particulates

but that is not the focus here
no, this man with cloudy vision suffers
from acute egomania, coupled with
severe xenophobia, exacerbated by
extreme misogyny and contempt for
everyone and everything that would
diminish the pleasure of being himself

he looks, but does not see
he sees, but does not observe
because he chooses not to
self-blinded, he gropes about
in a fog of his own making,
gropes those he says he detests
fires the rest for fun, for money

living in shadows under the noon sun
shadowy deals in darkened rooms
dark deeds, black-hearted words
nothing to do with light and truth
the man who would be king
and silence freedom's ring

i am not what ails you

in order of no particular importance
let me say first that i am not a doctor

i have not played one on television
nor did i sleep in a holiday inn last night

so that i could wake up refreshed and filled
with unearned knowledge to heal your daily ills

my second assertion is equally noteworthy
i am unordained, unseminaried, and unconcerned

with filling a large public stadium with those
whose guilty souls have a wider range than

a mezzo-soprano in the prime of her life
souls whose pocketbooks are just a little too tight

which brings me to my final, pointed disclaimer
one which you may have a little trouble swallowing

the poison pill that keeps you awake and worried
is not my kaftan, my kufi, my dreads, my turban or my tie

it is the internal chaos of your innate humanity crashing against
the rigid view you were given of everyone and everything

that is even slightly different than the mirrored self
you see at breakfast, lunch, dinner, in the news

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