the news talkers are talking
jaws on hinges, swinging
lips flapping in the wind
like squirrels frantically searching
for some nut of meaning
and piqued with foreboding
the anticipation of disaster
the uncertainty of tomorrow
the reality of today
worry is present suffering, made as a
down payment on tomorrow’s doom
the sky is light and blue
the street is quiet outside my window
the chipmunk in the maple
prepares for winter
the long-deep-sleep, with
spring to follow
