2 little poems, the second unfinished

And when I watch the news

 

And when I watch the news I look

not at the urgent reporter

gabbling into the unfolding event

trying so hard to see meaning in the mayhem

 

but behind and above him

at the chaotic mosaic of heads

the angry men confirming the story

in this hot dry place

 

and I pick one small blob

from all the rest

a faceless distant orb among

all the separate faraway drops

 

and I think “Who is he?

Where does he live?

What did he have for his breakfast?’

Him and all the billions of others

 

Laughter

 

People pay money to go into a room

Where someone makes them do it

 

Every laugh

A moment of high solace

A shout out to the chimpanzees

A signature you cannot predict

The burly dude with his high-pitched whinny

The machine gun holler of the tiny girl

 

 


Arthur Smith. Has Gigs