I’m So Ashamed

I’m so ashamed to be white in America.
I had never thought of any such thing.
But it has become glaringly obvious,
that we whites have perpetuated all that’s mean
against people of color — black, brown, yellow and red.
We act as if we would rather
they all be dead.
I’m sick of namby-pamby white gripes.
Shall I hand them all baby wipes?
We are all immigrants and their children.
Our parents never graduated from high school but encouraged us on,
but angry whites want us to name villains.
Well, I won’t do that at all!
We are all one
by race, ethnicity, sexual orientation
and deserve equal treatment under God’s sun.

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What Could It Be?

Someone said the president functions episodically.
Others say unconsciously
or just bizarrely
but certainly not absent-mindedly, or maybe.
Others think it is just demonically
or perhaps sadistically
and certainly narcissistically.
It certainly doesn’t seem to be democratically.
Others say fascistically
and that’s not meant facetiously.
It almost defies defining what it could be.
Could someone please bring in a psychiatrist, speedily?

Bury My Heart in My Left Knee

Bury my heart in my left knee,
But I’m not really asking for you to feel sorry for me.
It’s audacious to ask for sympathy
And compare one’s self of the real Wounded Knee.
I stood right there on the edge of the field
Where old men, women and children helplessly had to yield
To the violent, mercilessness of Caesar’s Cavalry.
I cried as I listened to shrieks from the past echoing in that field,
History would not forget that reality,
And the Lakota have steeled
Against such oppressive, mind-boggling inhumanity.
But I have to admit, when I have acute pain in my left knee,
It is kind of hard to concentrate on what is going on around me.
So, a few aspirin I will take
And return to focusing and concentrate
On life’s real joys and, yes, of course, the tragedies
Like what happened at Wounded Knee.
Never forget, never forget, never forget
So as not stupidly to repeat brutal history.

Corpus Christi, Texas (The Body of Christ)

Stiletto heels,
gazillion
dollar leather
jacket
to show how
much she cares,
what a crowd
what a wonderful
number of people
greeting us in
Corpus Cristi
which is high
and dry and
where my wife’s
stiletto’s will
knife through
the mud
of the flood,
which she really
won’t have to do.
Thanks for the
crowds; soon
I will con-
gratulate
everyone for
the crowd (the
enormous crowd
here in Corpus
Christi, some-
what near the
real storm
devastation in
Houston)
your incredible
support (am I
supposed to
say something
nice about
the victims
here in the
body of Christ?)

Nothing Beats Being There

Nothing beats being there.
The camper had to be moved
For the wood chopper to get
In the driveway, so they just
Went on a camping trip
And let the tree trimmer
Have at it. Unfortunately,
He had at the wrong branch.
The man distinctly remembers
Saying, “the branch that angles
To the right.”
The tree trimmer said, “Hmm.”
Nothing beats being there.

Our Demons

I have mixed feelings about
eliminating any reference to
demons from our past.
It seems to me that we need
to name them
to eliminate them
and perhaps continue to see them
as a reminder of what harm
they have done in our past.
Perhaps, put them in a museum
where school children can see them
and know where we never ever
want to go again.
We need reminders
because we have blinders
and short memory reminders
of the horrible places we
have been.

While I Sat On The Porch

While I sat on the porch,

a black-capped chickadee
came and sat beside me

not knowing that a larger
bird was already in the tree.

He bolted and flew for cover
to the white pine tree.

Then a humming-bird came
beside me and drank deeply

of an orange Zinnia’s nectar
but there was no one to
come and heckle her.

She’s just flighty by nature
and perhaps afraid that I
might wish to catch her,

but I was content just to sit
and watch all the birds flit
here and there and everywhere

while I sat on the porch.