I just woke up again
At 3 AM, the long dark midnight of the soul
In pain again
My elbows swollen,
Inflamed like the lining ‘round my heart
From all the jostling, jarring, tugging on my cart
— Down broken sidewalks
Past broken men and women —
That has replaced the car I used to have and drive
On prettier routes, on smoother streets
In what Her Bert was used to calling once
The Cool Grey City, Son, of Loving.

On Veteran’s Day, to my dismay,
While making my way down to Markay Street
Upon the Turkish Avenue
I saw a little Ignatz Maus, confused,
Or else he would not be about in daylight,
Obviously poisoned, bleeding inside.
It was too late for him,
No eau d’vie
Imported from across the alps
On collar hairy of the dog
Nor purest water either
No words in this or any other blog
Would save him from the pain ahead.
All I could do — And
For my trouble, people stopped and stared —
Was take him in hand,
Hold him close as I would you.
Next to my beating, beaten-up, near-broken part,
Bloody red but still as yet unbowed,
And dedicated to the ones I love and vowed
To honor and to serve for all my life
I stroked the furry wee one into peaceful rest.
At least in those few moments, as he died,
He felt some love at last
In the arms of a Stranger Angel.
Malachi, My Dear, I staggered,
And a dagger pierced her own heart too.
Is it too late for me as well,
I wondered,
To flee this hellish nightmare
Where a system beats the life and hope
Out of even fresh and optimistic dopes
Not just with nightsticks, not just by police or military arms,
But by the thousand shocks, hurts, harms
Of living every day
In this cold, callous, cruel way
As if the people ought to have no say
In how power is used.
"Not in my name"
We few, proud men shout here,
"No, this shame
We will not own. Take it back
To Texas, bury it under spreading oaks
Under the hilly country brush."
You understand, of course, that I
Am no Marine, no SeaBee, not a swab,
Neither Army, no, nor AirForce.
So now you might think that I’m just a slob,
I have no job
Other than giving all that I can be
To Love and Liberty.
But I have had, and sometimes lost,
Good friends in all those branches,
And I speak for them and those I love
Who cannot risk it
Who might thereby lose more than I
And who are taking other burdens on for me,
So I am free to sing of Joy, of Love, of Peace.

Thank you, heavenly Father,
Dear Mother, Sisters, and ironically,
Brothers in Law, in Love, though not always in Arms —
Except the longish ones that lean toward Justice
Eventually —
Your Prudence might dictate at certain times
A Reckless Rod
But in the end, we know you’ll even up the scales.
I hope before we’re all swallowed by whales;
It gets so awfully dark in there, one might forget the Light exists.
So long, and thanks for all the fish.