THRENODY BY THE PRESIDENT FOR THE VICTIMS OF COVID-19

BEGINNING WITH A LINE BY CZESLAW MILOSZ

by Ralph Culver

1

 

You whom I could not save,

can we make our peace? 

There were so many of you.

And one body

after all

is very like another. 

One life is like another,

in spite of  

what you want to believe.

The dead in any language

are still the dead.

It’s clear that I was confused,

lost in the cool, deep grave of my skull

as the heat of the day 

made corpses in the street

sit up and roll away from the sun.

Addled and jaded, peremptory, 

determined to dissociate 

your fate from my own—

that was my first test

and my first failing.

 

2

 

You whom I did not save,

can you forgive me? 

Of course, if it were up to you,

I have convinced myself

you would have made

the same choice.

It occurs to me,

not for the first time,

that our days here 

are spent entangled in fables,

making our excuses, one

after another—

that I have become 

so proficient,

so adept, 

at evading the truth

that I would pronounce myself blameless

for every death,

including my own.

 

3

 

You who would not be saved,

that army of one who bears my name,

I give you thanks

for ignoring the pleas of the others

and accepting

your own damnation

in exchange for what now passes for my life.

Ralph Culver is a past contributor to TheNewVerse.News. His most recent collection of poems is the chapbook So Be It (WolfGang Press, 2018). His new collection A Passible Man is forthcoming from MadHat Press. He lives in South Burlington, Vermont.

LAMENT OF THE HOMELESS

by Earl J. Wilcox

“Trump has ordered aides to figure out a sweeping plan to address staggering increases in homelessness in Los Angeles and other cities, particularly in California. One option being considered is relocating homeless people from “skid row” to the unused FAA facility in Hawthorne, government officials have told The Washington Post. One government official involved in the planning questioned the feasibility and legality of the relocation plan. ‘It is the stupidest idea I have ever heard,’ said the official, who spoke on the condition of anonymity to avoid professional repercussions.” —The Washington Post, September 17, 2019. Photo: The "skid row" area of Los Angeles in January 2018. (Mark Ralston/AFP/Getty Images via The Washington Post). See also “Donald Trump Knows How to End Homelessness” by David A. Graham in The Atlantic, September 19, 2019.

He who gurgled in a gilded womb,
was born in a Manhattan mansion,
grew up and lived in splendor,
was schooled in every grace
of wealth a millionaire’s family
could provide.

He who has spent seven decades
in a lavish lifestyle—towers and
trinkets and  trivial pursuit of money
and fame.

Supposes, proposes, disposes himself
to pronounce a funky solution for us
who sleep on heating grates,
who use supermarket carts for valets,
who cook and copulate under bridges,
who hunger in pain 24/7 in doorways
beneath rag-tag quilts.

Earl Wilcox’s poetry first appeared in TheNewVerse.News in December, 2006. Since that time, his poems have regularly found a home here and in various other print and online journals. In his 87th year, he continues to observe the world from South Carolina.