like Guthrie his
guitar screams
this machine
kills fascists
this guitar
is an animal’s bite
imperfect neck gripped
tight to sparse
applause for a
street busker
trying to change
the world
each measure
a fool’s gamble
might as well
ask the planets
change orbits
for a few coins?
a loose needle
some matches
a few bucks
in the guitar case
open like a mouth
in mid-phrase
///
the stiff-legged dog still
wants to play and race
old bones, stretched
taut muscles like lightning
through molasses across
the yard like she tore up
the house as a puppy once
a white storm with black ears
and teeth she flinches
when I put the ointment on
the scrapes from falling, but
I think she knows I’m helping
her know I understand you
are not having fun if
you’re not getting hurt
///
Regulations demand
our silence. We must bear
the barbed weight of law.
Statutes and tradition
compel us to remain
quiet, blind, mute. We
become security cameras
with corrupted hard-drives
and though rules must
be followed, the hackers
are getting in. Let there
be light, more light, noise
and outrage, memory for all.
///
This is for the prompt at This Is Not a Literary Journal, Carolee Bennett’s new poetry effort. I’m helping out as an occasional “Provider of Prompts,” and I did provide this one called The Rules. And, lemme tell ya, it’s hard to write to your own prompt. Come check it out and join the fun.