Groans of Thunder (a poem)

Dark clouds gather + block a stifling sun, breaking the heat

of oppressive summer days – we’re in a daze, at a standstill,

shops closed + mask-wearing maniacs stashing cash

under dirty mattresses in case of economic collapse –

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American Masks (a poem)

What terror hides behind manicured grass

and lush flower beds? Outside the office complex,

the manager scolds us for cigarette smoking.

Months later, his cold stare is in a newspaper for

unspeakable crime. Am I too naïve to think the masks

we wear are true windows into our souls?

(Photo by John Noonan on Unsplash)