by Rick Young | Sep 26, 2021 | Poem
The cruelty factory is giving out rebates
for tortures unseen and ominous fates
For confessions extracted,
new law’s been enacted.
Makes pain mandatory.
It’s tied in with glory.
Passed in a landslide,
wherein a few died.
So, now you can line up for hurt at the gate,
unless you’re the type who would procrastinate.
The cruelty factory will cater to you.
They say pain’s your due.
Sadly, this time it’s true.
by Rick Young | Sep 26, 2021 | Poem
Thrown open are the windows and fresh banana peels to the crows!
The hawk has paid a visit.
After rains he frequently shows up at the top of the tallest tree outside my window,
where, first, he dries, sitting like a block, until, shaking, he begins to unruffle.
The branch is his occasional spa, where he stretches, does bird pilates,
salutes the sun, which appeared, after he did, and does some shoulder rotation.
After some head swiveling and neck lengthening, he’s ready for flight.
A long reach down to the leaves below and there he goes. Kick. Glide. Kick.
