OK, I think that’s enough of politics for a while. It’s not my forte. It’s time for me to step back and regroup, do a little woolgathering and concentrate on my broccoli. You understand. I don’t think there’s anything more I can say about Bush winning or the war going on, or the demise of whatever died.

This piece of writing is simply dragged from my folder of old unfinished sketches and posted here for you.

Tucking In The Dog

It’s alright, little dog, the day

has ended and we are safe

at home in our house again.

The world won’t find us here,

with it’s anthrax and missiles.

I shut the windows and turn the lights

down low and we can find a kind of peace.

Each night this week, I leave

my office in the evening and the trees

are full of crows, loud and desperate,

hungry, full of joy. They don’t know

what we’re going through. I love them

for their disdain of color, their ugly call.

Crows mean business and they play

in the face of death.

Let’s go to sleep, listen to the dull

clock and the appliances. The war

will be there tomorrow; we won’t

miss a thing. We have the Internet

and CNN and God knows the crows

love eucalyptus in the fall. Sleep.

I’ll watch a little Letterman

and say your prayers for you.