“What’s To Come” by Roz Levine

A few miles from the Pacific
Signs of vestigial vibrations of fear and flight
Permeate my brain now on snap and crackle
A brain primed to pop, pop, pop to dam burst
By DNA and media masters at CNN
Because the world’s on big rupture spin
With no place a refuge for safe keeping.
On this turf, once so safe and cozy
I phone pharmacies, family, friends
Ring up health food stores
On the plead and quest
For potassium iodide
With a passion to make a deal
Protect the lives of my family
With radiation rampage on wild
With waters on crazy turmoil
And the breach
And the winds
And the currents
And the yowls from Japan
Rise across Pacific clouds
Head towards our home shores
Where we no longer dance
Or big smile good morning
Or relax with French roast coffee
Seated round kitchen counters.
We talk, worry, spin nightmares
Over radiation effects in Japan
And what could happen here
Right here, ladies and gentlemen
Right here in our city of angels.
Here we prepare for the not known
Store candles, batteries, gallons of water
Buy boxes of cereal, crackers, milk
Cans of tuna, soup and peanut butter
A case of dog food and kibble
Order a month’s supply of heart pills
Diabetes drugs and thyroid medication
Remind every family member
To fill gas tanks to overflow.
Each day we watch for signs
Each night we watch for signs
We study the air
Search the skies
Watch for signs
Of right or wrong
Examine the earth
We watch for signs
Wait for what’s to come.

Roz Levine

Foto “inner turmoil”

by L. K. Thayer

© 2011

“Portion Patrol” by M. C. Lubow

The spice of my life is exercising portion control
slicing our once twice weekly lunches
to 45 minutes once a quarter.

I tried to find him entertaining, but in fact
I was the one remaining in the booth
with seats of leather
while he beckoned her heather.

Yes, he wanted fruit and turkey.
The waitress said there was no fruit.
Undeterred, he asked for mayo and mustard
offered me half, half his sandwich, half his lunch.

While my muse was making eyes
at the waitress I now despise
for her slim, tall youth,
I was the one remaining in the booth

The waitress pranced about, danced up the aisle,
used her saber to lance my smile and
brought him plain old tacky French’s, a tacky yellow ordinary mustard
in a tacky yellow plastic squeezer.

My hunch is she’s every inch a teaser
She may not know the pleasure of Grey Poupon
But she knows what she’s attracting
like a bee to honey.

Once reserved for me, he gave
the mustard bearer his fanfare as if she presented
him with a rare tasty Dijon, as if I weren’t there
remaining in the booth of leather.

My former muse now her regular, a regular diner, a regular bee
For she smiled honeymustard as we departed
and said to him and not to me

Thanks for coming back and back and back to my hive

M. C. Lubow

Foto by L. K. Thayer

© 2010