by Dan Raphael

rain slammin down like it was march’s pineapple express
or july in a midwest thunderstorm
like a vertical train wide as my vision sliding into the earth in a billion threads

three days ago it was 87 and I got my head pink
walking along the river, nimbly avoiding bicycle racers
& the temptation to jump into willamette murk & get this decomposing done right

we’re rich with strawberries, snarfing up the last affordable gulf shrimp
while I read of gaza, afghanistan, republic of congo, soweto,
the burgeoning consumption in china and india, jungles shaved
to fuel the machines that heat the earth that melt the ice sheets that flood the cities that jack built

there’s beer and marijuana, self-imposed bans on reading news,
frolicking with compost, talking to plants, cats and friends,
getting up when the alarm beeps to maintain this demi-american lifestyle