Friday, November 6, 2020

Looking Presidential

 

See live first rendition here

Bats know where they’ll go

With their bellies full of gnats

But a dying nation counts each mail-in

Yet no way home after that.

 

A typhoon passing to the south

Brings needed rain to quench the drought

But the storm between two sorrows

Has no wet tomorrows; only doubt.

 

Business unusual in the cycle of supply and demand

No promise to farmers working the land

No sustenance nor strengthened workers

With no eagle’s grace at hand

 

But bats don’t dicker or mock the sea

Unlike the gluttons of the century

Who wither and worry between two losing choices

And have no sonar to hear clear voices.

 

As dusk signals the end of the bats’ meal airborne

They return to their nests for the dawning of dawn

Grasping nature that suffices without decision

Life and death infamy or derision.

 

November 6, 2020

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