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


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