Sycophants in Spring (a poem)

The world wakes up each spring
I notice warped smiles
Birdsong is back, hideous
On sunny, manic blue-sky days
An energy is something
You feel in the body
The way trauma is stored
Each time psychosomatic
Tensions mount
A naked man smiled at me in the
Bread aisle, and what a smile!
I noticed the weariness of
His wrinkled face and I remembered
Not everything is well
There are sycophants among us
They hide in sticky crowds
They could be anywhere, believe me
Spring is a time for violent vigor
And a harbinger of obsession
The sensual beauty out there
Sometimes hides the disdain
And the madness

Suburban Killer (a poem)

at this juncture, we’ve not found

the serial killer who

stalks the sickened streets

of this suburban town –

turn that frown

upside-down, miss

we’ve got diligent detectives

on the case

looking at every trace

of evidence

storing it in dirty lockers –

we’ll find this psycho-dude

I assure you

& you can go back

to your tranquil life

not worrying ‘bout

these dreadful things

(Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash)