news
we don’t give ourselves
enough credit
for not being violent:
old lady in the library
reading tolstoy;
the family of three in eddie’s
picking the apple
cider for a party.
the news is like the sun
on skin … bad and good
mixed up to where
we need a screen
but usually just take
the beating:
a stabbing at the parade;
the lottery winner poisoned.
fear and gruesome stories
gather storm clouds
above the city
that threaten
everybody on the streets.
we try our best
to acclimate
to the weather’s
give and take:
taking cover beneath
our newspapers
we miss
some subtle change:
down the street
a new volunteer serves soup
at the kitchen;
a middle school
rises from the disuse
of a coat factory
as construction workers
install new windows
through which fresh
eyes will see.
--
**This poem was reviewed by Beach Sloth
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