The Asterisk Blues

Asterisk Boy sits alone in his lair/
he don't give a damn about what's hangin' in the air/
His ears are closed to the voice of outsiders/
He only hears the yes-men and crooked advisers/

Asterisk Boy's got an itchy trigger finger/
He's a fat-cats-first-kill-the-rest right winger/
God made him king so he knows he's right/
He never lets his people stay away from a fight/

He tells a lie until he thinks it's true/
Asterisk Boy knows what to do/
he'll lock up anyone who gets in his way/
The voice in his ears tells him what to say/

Four more years of a nasty habit/
He's not going to let anybody else have it/
The money pours in from the corporate coffers/
Blood and profits is what he offers/

I've got the asterisk blues/
I can't win I can only lose/
It's treason they say/
to protest in this way/
I've got the asterisk blues…

Haiku the train ride

Silver rails glisten
like snail tracks on cinders
Metroliner dawn

Mist clings to the ground
a comforter for the earth
against morning's cold

Amber morning light
shattered factory windows gleam
like chapel stained glass

Onion domed churches
and sardine-stacked rowhouse streets
slide by silently

“Express” commuter rail
mysteries lurk in the fog
we creep around turns

Bursts of blue skies
lined
with gods-whisker golden clouds
cirrus morning shadow

Dense scrub forests
islands in suburban sprawl

pass, invisible

Morning light turns hard

watercolor mists retreat

unforgiving day

Jersey office parks
Metropark megaliths
among plastic trees

Rahway's flat rooftops
mirror the slate shine from
the
refinery clouds

Newark Airport spews
another pumpkinseed plane

into dawn's visage

Burning rubber smell
acrid as a tire dump fire
Welcome to Newark

It's a winter sun
on an early fall morning

urban grit sky

Bricks, steel and shambles
line the New Jersey railroad
vacant lots steaming

Newsprint-colored sky
brown, black, traffic-cone orange
graffiti relief

Post industrial
landscape reflects in the Kill

ducks, egrets, phone poles

Cargo cranes, gantries
gather in Meadowlands mist
conspiring, waiting

Then down below ground

below the Hudson, into
Manhattan's bowels

Up from the darkness
disgorged into the station
the rush for fresh air

Oh, screw the cab line

I'll walk across Manhattan
I'm travelling light.

The Center Cannot Hold

The fleeting nature of happiness seems to be getting proved over and over all around us these days. Friends, couples we have known only as couples, are coming apart at the seams; hidden things are being spilled into public view for all to see.

A pair of longtime friends, J. and R., had dropped off our radar screen for a few months; we knew they were having problems with their teenage daughter, so we left occasional messages offering our support. Then, during the summer, we heard from J, — she and R. were breaking up because R. had been involved in an affair–a homosexual affair.

Yesterday, another one of our friends confided that she was asking her significant other to leave because of his drinking problem. The problem was obvious; we had recently had dinner with them, and he was drunk when we arrived. It was also long-lived; he had a history, but on the surface it had seemed he was making good on promises. Then he quit his job, and all pretense of control was gone.

And then, another couple we know that is in the middle of relocating seemed to come a bit unglued. She left town suddenly, to go to their new house, already bought, leaving him with the kids ; he had to drop them with a neighbor because of work.

Meanwhile, a couple we know from church and our kids' school has been seperated for months; we only found out this week when the rigors of the new school year and soccer practice tore away the illusion of normalcy they had been painting for all but those closely involved.

I am no stranger to this. I've been in an untenable relationship, that I stayed in because I felt obliged to by honor and faith and only left when it was clear that it was necessary to preserve the health of my sons and myself. I count myself more fortunate every day that I did, and that I found a relationship and a marriage that work in the wake of that disaster.

But there are always strains placed on relationships from the outside that challenge. If you're lucky, and patient, and prepared, you can get through many of them. But for some, as Yeats said, “Things fall apart; the center will not hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world.” The artifices that people build to deal with daily life, to plaster over differences rather than communicate about them, inevitably collapse under their own weight.

Sometimes, the collapse is a good thing-it forces change that is necessary, and clears the air for things to be rebuilt more strongly. But often, the crisis that brings on the collapse is too much to get beyond to make repairs; the resolve to make things right is washed away in the emotion of the moment, and all that remains is the jagged hole.