Ukrainian Man Dead

The block’s sentinel

molded to a plastic chair

affixed to a slab balcony

knowing nothing, seeing all,

like the Queen’s Life Guard,

he didn't ruffle or speak.

Blue and gold

did not adorn his post,

but his tongue was thick.

Through the blister and ice

of Midwestern seasons,

his surface smoothed.

The ambulance came late,

his body returned to earth,

his soul to Carpathia.

Now she sits

molded to a plastic chair

in this new Ukraine.

BirdSong

Light flirts with the sky

lowering itself into night

bird songs play through

a shade open to cool air

suspended, time is free

much of it still to spend

but the hour on the clock

betrays, set to early rise

tempted to stay conscious  

birds find summer nests

the rhythm of last warbles

lullaby to send me off.

Thick

thick from early sunrise to late sunset

the long day is simply summer’s start

slipped in a white lawn night gown

I lie on the divan deep in delicious want

the cotton swirls around expanse of hip

rounded breasts peek out of pintucking

and lace that crowns each delicately

splattered freckle that has kissed sun

while I wriggle and writhe in absence

of a friendly hand that could release

the long days of neglect built over time

and a heart that is trapped in a cage

little hopes project his image in fantasy

for any inattention paid in shared time

he tinkers and smiths words to disguise

his true heart’s intent for fear of exposure

his energy gnaws at a connection rat-like

careless of the voltage it unleashes

I am gullible and do not see the scene for

I trust what has been told to me before

too deep in the intensity of my own need

I am thick to the pain surreptitiously revealed

I examine the read with the guidance of tags

tricked by his obvious slight of hand metaphor