Buckle your Hats

 

The Pilgrim’s classic

buckle hat is fiction.

No buckle hat ever existed

and no Pilgrim ever

wore one.

 

A buckle-hatted,

white male,

standing a long table

thanking the Natives

for not letting them die.

 

It is, however, that image

that so permeates the

Thanksgiving Holiday,

that we simply accept the

myth as canon and eat.

 

I imagine that Pilgrim winking

to the other Pilgrim’s

the whole time, nudging others

with a knowing wry smile,

saying, “Thanks, but we’ll take it from here”.

 

It is our nature to believe

the legend over the truth,

since legends are often far more

interesting than the cold,

hard facts.

 

We’re a culture built on myth,

mysteries and stories,

ready to believe there’s a monster

under the mountain, belching

lava and destruction, rather than the truth.

 

Despite our mythologies,

we are thankful,

for those that abide by the truth,

and keep us from running off cliffs

in panicked frenzies.

 

In our buckle-hats,

waving muskets after vicious turkeys,

as the Natives point, and laugh, as

we careen over the edge of the

abyss, towards legend.

 

Happy Thanksgiving 2023

 

 

Learned Anything

 

I agree with some poets

who say it’s difficult to

write poetry in difficult

times.

 

The effectiveness of the words

is infantile and helpless,

when global doings are

transpiring.

 

What great deed can be accomplished,

with the meager strings of

vowels and consonants,

so timidly conspiring in the dark?

 

Will trench poetry emerge as the

salve, soothing the injuries inflicted

by despots and territorial

pissings?

 

The afterthoughts of afterthoughts,

written in blood, smeared on hospital

walls, as warnings, as condemnations,

as epitaphs.

 

Flag waving and heavy footfalls of

militaries marching, through deserted

streets, the music of lost souls, echoing

through alleys and history.

 

Graveyards alive with flags for

the fallen, flapping in foul breezes,

with a few sad words hastily written

on tombstones.

 

The poetry of the now,

seems too weak to fight the onslaught

of the present, and it’s perhaps only in

memory, wherein peace resides.

 

The future, reflecting on our words,

will be the judge of history, so maybe,

the difficulty will be worth it, and what seemed

ineffective, will be remembered.

 

Although I’m not sure we’ve learned

anything yet.

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Photo:  https://clarkcrenshaw.photodeck.com/media/857a4301-751f-460d-96f5-cb0d47ad1a19-old-school-room-2 

Interview for a Hero

 

So, what’s your superhero name?

 

“Kid Crunch!”

 

Kid Crunch?

 

“Kid Crunch!!!”

 

That’s…quite a handle.

What’s your superpower?

 

“Crunching!”

 

Crunching?

 

“Crunching!!”

 

I see… so you crunch like,

villains or their stuff, or just

like, stuff in general?

 

“I crunch injustice!”

 

You… you crunch injustice?

 

“Yes!”

 

How, and forgive me for asking,

how does one crunch injustice?

 

“Squats!”

 

Squats? You crunch injustice

with Squats?

 

“Yes! Squats! Cuuuurrunch!!”

 

Is that your, like catchphrase?

 

“Yes!”

 

Okay, great, thanks for coming

in and I guess, you know, we’ll

let you know. Anything you'd like to add?

 

“I was also President once.”

 

Super. Thanks. We’ll be in touch.