Today's poem is by Brandon Rushton
All things are an effort to prolong the inevitable.
For example, my deep concern when the kids call
top bunk it means they've acquired innuendo.
They'll get there, if they haven't already
and already it is hard for me to accept that.
The dog brings in the daily paper and I tell
myself the troubling news is temporary.
Each month we make believe the mortgage
is a ransom installment meant for remedying
our differences with the mob. It's better this way,
for our sex life, if we're more morbid than boring.
I wave at the neighbor who dual wields
his weed killer and he does not wave back.
I'd like to call a mayday every Monday morning
but this seems insensitive considering the plane
that's just crashed on a pond of swans.
The community committee has just elected
our inaugural savior of the suburb. Kids chuck
their trading cards down a manhole
as a form of protest. Nothing stays the same.
Spirits are low. The search effort is to be
suspended at sunset. The main difference
between a plane and a person hurled into the water
is the black box that helps us understand it better.
There are no survivors. There are still
so many swans.
Copyright © 2017 Brandon Rushton All rights reserved
from Gulf Coast
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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