Civilization changes
hurried by technology.
Hand held devices
allow instant contact
anytime
with friends, business,
entertainment,
social media
pervading all.

The children stood outside the door
of the pay by the hour room
of the decrepit motel,
put out to wait in the cold
and neither of them seemed to care
what might happen to them there
alone in a dangerous place.

When I was in grade school
they tried to convince me
all was well with our country,
yet the Cold War frightened us
with fear of atomic bombs
and the best school could do
was have us hide under desks,
suspended me when I wouldn’t,
refused to listen to me
when I tried to explain
cowering under a desk
can’t protect us from the bomb.

The last leaf
clings to the bare tree
a lonely retainer

I hate them for their beauty, not just
their possession of it, but how they flaunt it,
shimmering so much splendor into the world.
Flannery O’Connor, whose peacocks
I have seen at Andalusia Farms,
once said of a favorite that he
carried himself as if he not only
had a train behind him but a retinue to attend it.

On Caravaggio’s Saint Jerome Writing
What is it that Saint Jerome was writing?
And why can’t the art take that history back?
It seems the wine-soaked pills made vision lack—
Was Caravaggio with all the gods fighting?