LETTERS TO THE EDITOR

Ode to America

There’s hardly one \ in human race
who wouldn’t go at a faster pace
if it weren’t for the shoes they lace
and the other’s had on mace.

And is the day already black
who for the color of their skin they lack
a way to free their bending back
and keep clear of the wayward track?

And are we so right as to be
the only ones in the planet free
to take our leave for tea at three
and tell the others they cannot see?

For if we do not heed a-nd master
the machine that goes much faster
next time we meet the Caster
we’ll wish we were the church’s pastor.

The Village Tramp

From the\alley the aging tramp
staggered from\the cold and damp
he’d left his bottle with a friend
who said he’ld stay to the bitter end
the icy dawn broke through the fog
to awaken the next door neighbor’s dog

It spied the tramp and in a rage
drove him from\this human stage
the tramp moved down the street aways
heavy, like the world he weighs
to the corner coffee shop
where for a cup a made a stop

The other midnight watchmen starred
while in his trembling hands he bared
the price of one more kindly sip
then to the table where he finally slipped
to render all he would have hid
and\in that hour he made\his bid

‘If you do not take the tact
and always try to pass them back
you may find it is a fact
it’s the innocent upon the rack
when the money is neatly stacked
and the mighty have made their pact’

‘If it’s the end of the human race
who do you think will take my place
to continue .. or leave no trace
of the blackened missing ace?
I have lived, its not a waste
but life is only what you taste!

He talked though no one was around
then he made an un-uttered sound
his parchedlips began to tremble
in that moment he resembled
the price of what nothing cost
when life’s run out and all is lost

Then he made a sudden lunge
he gripped the table to which he clung
his life ran passing very fast
he didn’t think that he could last
then he stepped into the\cradle
for him his heart attack was fatal.