Marcus Severns writes

Finger Taps Break The Day Away

The boss lady sits all day eating,

Playing games on her phone,

Swirling her foot

And otherwise resistant to doing labor.

She owns the land, 

                 I work it.

 Do what she says, 

                  Or it's find another place.

She swirls her foot,

                  Taps at a screen,

                  And is otherwise useless to a business –

                  She can't lift or carry anything,  

                  She can't walk,

                  Nor does her mind seem to be functioning well.

                  I suppose that's why she has people working for her,

                  As the roof leaks

                  As the mice scutter in the walls,

                  She asks,

                  “Did you make sure we had the yard                    mowed?

                  We need to make it look nice

                  For if anyone comes by.”

I nod,

Wondering how she is capable of owning anything

                  She should retire,

                  Throw her punch card in,

                  Cash out,

                  And have someone else manage this

                  place.

I do what I can though.

I sweep,

Catch the rodents in cages,

Stock,

Do paper work:

Keep the place going. 

I run the whole business for her,

                   But on paper.

La Mort et le Fossoyeur (Death and the Grave Digger) -- Carlos Schwabe

Marcus Severns writes

Dissident Decedents

Give them food,
             Shelter,
             Send them to college.

Make sure they are safe.

             Give them life,
                         Teach them language.

                          Pick them up when they are sick,
                                      Drop a blanket over them
                                                   When they fall asleep on the couch.

                                      Give them the nurture they need
                                                    To mature
                                      Into healthy people

                           Who go into the world
                                         To do the same.

                            At retirement, they shall argue who gets to be caretaker.

 Yes,

             Or the “Hands off approach.”

             Give them nothing,
             Complain to them and about them,
             They're in the will – they will inherit –
                          They should be thankful.

Oh,
They rarely visit?

Oh,
              None of them live nearby,

              Nor seem to care
                           That you have a disease?

I'm sorry, 
I will hug them for you;

               Then bring you a fruit basket

                               

                As well as
                           Black roses.

Black Rose -- Ellen Hendrikx

Marcus Severns writes

Three Storms

 Three winds in my head,

              A soft wind from the west,

                           A cold wind from the south,

              And east blows a tropical wind.

              They meet in the center,

                           As a migraine,

               And the lights go out.

                           All is black peripheral

                           And the center is flickering rainbows,

                                    With a sick swirl half-color

                                    Half void

                           Like oil spilled across a rain puddle.

 If I could see the screen on the phone,

                          I'd call into work.

My left hand rubs my pants,

             My right drums fingers and thumb

              Across the glass of my telephone.

             With head leaned back on the couch,

                           I let out a sigh.

             Cluster storm migraine,

                           From both hemispheres,

                           With occipital lobe disturbances.

There is a pattern here,

             But I was too busy worried about Christmas

             I forgot to notice them –

                            Like checking the weather every so often –

These things can be predicted.

 Perhaps

 Something in me

 Wanted a day off.

                                   It's okay

                                   If it's medical,

                                           They'll understand --

                                   I'll just take this day

                                           To watch the rainy colors in my head.

 

 Storm -- Robert Civello