Consequence

As California bakes in July, this poem, written a couple of years ago came to mind. Perhaps as a reminder that there are consequences in life.

Heat — like rays from an old

Flash Gordon movie, stunned me

into submission — I’ve grown tired.

From an August filled with discontent.

Angered by a droning lack of respect,

a lingering disagreement with 2019,

being a much better year.

***

Who could have seen, it argues?

Who would have thought — a virus,

infinitely small, indefinably inconsiderate

would have smacked a year right in the mouth

and dared it to disbelieve.

***

Shush — it seems to say.

Quiet your dreams and your life, laid

out neatly like tracks on the Northern Pacific.

Shush and be humbled, for I am the Mother.

I see. You’ve been bad. You don’t listen.

Do you hear me now?

***

Heat — bounces off the tarmac, like

radio waves off the moon. Like lust from

the sweating bodies of newlyweds at a

Motel 6 in Omaha. Wrapped in cool

comfort — A/C on — dreams subsiding,

in transience as the future slams headlong

into the present. Will it ever be this good again?

***

Oh, consequence. Lift your heavy boot

off my neck and piss off, for you’ve

made your point. You’ve set the record straight.

We've been naughty. But unlike children, naughty is not

cute, not photo-worthy. Just dumb.

We get it. Now, leave us … please.