A week will be short not long
a week will be long too long
the first statement will be true if
my right arm gets its way
the second statement will be true
if my left leg gets the first step
and stops saying
if if if.

The young grandfather is flying
out of the snow and into the rain
hoping that the kids and their kids
have let fade the old stain
have washed down the cold street
into the drain the old emotions
hoping they say
if if if.

At the airport the usual the futile
argument with security about illegal
search and seizure without probable cause
if you want to see the real world
contradict a man in a uniform
the rest of us boys and girls
continue to say
if if if.

Above the stick-in-the-mud cities left
behind scattered between swaths of silence
on the way to the northwest halfway
to outer space where nothing resonates
the prince of his own opinion whistles
a folk tune about not waiting
old words saying
if if if.

When he lands he will turn around
missing the way the chickadees and finches
get out and stay out of snow and rain
get under a blanket under the branches
sharing their warmth and trading songs
whistling opinions all day long
if if if.


About mrsorenson

NOT my president
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