by dana yost
burning cars.
gas in the air.
navalny dead.
someone lights
a cigarette.
marley’s words.
bottle of teeth
on the vanity.
navalny dead.
arctic nights.
while we stand
aside and look.
forgive them?
not yet.
pick at the meat
with your
squirmy fingers.
roasted logs
by the missouri.
fog in daylight,
doorways
and dust.
in rafah
women
and children
are the real
poets.
Dana Yost was a journalist for 29 years and, still, sometimes, when news happens he can’t help but comment on events as they happen. He wrote the poem in lower case to try, in some way, a mode of protest or a bit of anarchy in response to too many strongmen and would-be strongmen. We have to speak against them.
