Not Under That Flag

The bell-ringing and bad singing
descending upon both city and town
in these days of blazing cloud cover
does not put out my lover’s fire.

My lover breathes a separate air
like the rim of a cup touching my lip
that never before was held in a hand
like an apple without a label.

Seeing rakishness I will not fool
myself or others or my love
into thinking that we live
in a pan on a hot stove.

When the river waters roil
and salty seas and soiled oceans
vehemently debate bad policies
pure rain falls upon some of us.

Somewhere coffee beans absorb
the wonderful stringency of soil
and unearthly sweet of sun
combining to pacify my tongue.


About mrsorenson

NOT my president
This entry was posted in poem, poetry, song and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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