by Pat Maslowski
Today is November seven, two
thousand and eleven, the sky
is a topaz blue, chill, though
the sun warms us into a drowse.
Public radio, KUNC, is playing
jazz, no news until three
while the dog's dreaming
memories behind my desk.
I found a mouse, drowned
in the sink this morning,
Judge Mukasey has been
confirmed by the Judiciary
Committee. We're assured he
will be confirmed by a docile
Senate, even though he refused
to say water boarding was torture.
Oil today at nearly one hundred
dollars a barrel. Pakistan beats
protesters in the streets. Coal
fired plants in China are raining
sulfur dioxide on Japan and here.
Our own are also distributing
the same on Utah, Arizona,
Colorado, and New Mexico.
A neighbor died of cancer
two weeks ago. A former student,
expelled from school twenty years ago
was arrested for methamphetamine.
Last month one hundred and sixty-six
new jobs were created. The income
disparity between poor and rich
is greatest here except for Hungary.
And I wonder if love is really possible
in our tiny lives as ephemeral as day
compared to geologic time and galaxies,
knowing we can control nothing at all.
Pat Maslowski lives in Drake, Colorado. She is a retired teacher and librarian.
