A Poem

Small Grace

You know, I can’t explain it —
no reason, just chance.
I was walking, not thinking of anything
much, when I noticed
a copper spot in the black gravel,
maybe two feet away, just off the sidewalk.
So, I stopped
and bent to see if maybe —
and yes, it was heads up —
a lucky penny!
I dropped it into my pocket,
smiling — thinking.
That’s right,
the universe chose me.

A Poem

Visiting the Living

"Bobby," she says,
"I don't know how many
people are in here,
but will you make sure
everyone has a seat?"
Bobby fetches
a folding chair for me,
so I can sit next to her bed,
sharing stories of her life in Lubbock
with a husband who died that day in May,
and who stands at the end of her bed now.
I don't see him,
but he remembers the details she can't.
"Bob," she says,
I couldn't do this without you."

A Poem

I recently had a reason to go through my old poetry, and I found this poem, which I wrote in 2001. It had potential, so I revised it, and I'm finally happy with it.

for one who feels he has the voice of an ant in a field of lawnmowers
(or Ants against the War Machine)

I have seen ants
marching
in columns
across a road
in Africa
where a war raged —
these men against those men,
those men against these —
but every man
stepping aside
for the steady line of army ants
unaware of tanks
or guns
or men with rifles.

And after,
I have looked
to see
the bones of a snake,
overcome by the slow
garrison
moving in unison —
each too small
to matter —
together
swallowing the serpent.