I’ve ended up closer to Death Valley than to
The cornucopia fields of San Joaquin
Even though I’ve said I’m halfway between them
I’m sliding down the sandy slopes eastward,
After two plus years in isolation, I’m in the desert
Where word-devils spin my poems up
Into the blinding sunlight which hurts my
Pale blue eyes that linger away from the blank page.
So much to write about – relief fund fraud, rents doubling
Legal loopholes that spiral out to lasso the edge-walkers
The opportunists, and survivors of poverty, laziness, bad luck, razors
Because if you understand the system there is more bounty
If you can’t climb up to the high road you don’t take it
I’m fortunate to be a spectator of this bottom feeding
And write about it, and whine about how the tiny tornadoes
Steal my words, up and away, even as they sparkle in the dust.
Dianne M. Buxton’s poetry can be seen in Poemicglobal, Caveat Lector, The Griffin, Sanskrit, and The Pathway To The Heart anthology . A graduate of the National Ballet School of Canada and an alumni of the Martha Graham School of Contemporary Dance in NYC, she retired from performance and teaching in the dance world and now writes.
Potent poem!