HOW ARE YOU THIS MORNING and other poems

I came across Mercurius through other poets. I am happy to discover the very fine work in the magazine and its open-minded editorial approach. The ideas of transformation and vitality are keen, something we poets hope to achieve. These four recent poems reflect my take on the world at this moment in time.

THE BACKYARD

A man with a blower tries
to sweep the leaves that have fallen 

overnight into one big pile.
A gust of wind tears into the pile

and the leaves crumble.
The man swings his blower harder 

and more leaves fall. It goes on
like this the whole morning. 

The man, who is lonely, is not unhappy.
He’s found a duelling partner in the wind.

POSTCARD FROM OCTOBER

Days in foggy New England,
the construction site waterlogged,
all gray but for the workers Day-Glo vests.
News comes through staticky airwaves like stuttering.
A hateful someone raised a torch and thousands mirrored. 

We talk of the coming election, sleeplessness,
havoc happening in the depth of night.
How sanity is like birds already fled south
leaving us chunks of soaked through bread
to sweep up in the garden. 

DAY OPTICS

A wind turbine,
a dairy plant,
a new casino--- rose gold
at the edge of water 

Passersby on foot, on bikes, skates
and scooters
men hammering/sawing
men raking tar 

A train halted by  
the quay
a bridge lacing
into the next town

On the interstate cars crisscross
like the Milky Way
but it is only cataracts
seeing the whole world flown

HOW ARE YOU THIS MORNING

                                    A gift comes
in the fledging light,
the bridge is steely again.
Two workers climb the jib’s ladder,
keeping a safe distance. 

Everything a little
clearer, a clumsy gull almost
clips the window. I sit with my coffee,
for years taking it black,
no longer bitter.