This Country

Hope is on the horizon.
It will arrive tomorrow.

It will arrive on the six-fifteen train
and disembark with baggage.

Hope will arrive with a cure
for the honey bees who are dying off

and a second cure
for all the city’s lead contaminated water.

I am projecting.
I require a big movie screen.

Only fools profess faith
in politicians.

Hope will not sate society’s hunger
for feeding off the disenfranchised.

Politicians will poison a metropolis
not to raise taxes.

It would be better if Hope arrived
driving a tour bus.

We need to mobilize.
We need voters at the ballot box.

We will pick them up at their churches
once service is over.

So their oval prayers may be marked
and counted.

copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney

Plateau

In the desert
you smell rain storms

before they clear
the horizon.

It is the salt tinged
taste of hope.

It is magpies
bending in the heat.

My twisted heart
straightens in sage thick air.

Juniper snips
the bindings of time.

I dive into a cloud’s shadow
and swim.


copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney