People Of The Stacks, The Racks, And The Checkout Aisles

They’re tilting,
tipping over because
one half of every one of them
is horror.
They’re lopsided
from carrying it.  

Immaculate beings
in split levels,
or lean and dirty ghosts
in a tent under cold stars; why wonder
if it’s nature or nurture driving them?  

What’s driving them
is nurture playing
in the snowfields
of nature’s mountains.
What’s driving them
is nature slipping a hand
into nurture’s back pocket
as they walk side by side.

Only one half of each is horror.
The other half is frozen joy. 

They look for thaw.
Limp toward clues to it. Call out:

Is there something to warm it with
on sale here?

What price the fire this time?

May there be credit
at terms easier
than what we know
we could be forced to sign.

May we straighten up.

May no one
laugh or shoot at us 
on our way
to straightened up.

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About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

One response to “People Of The Stacks, The Racks, And The Checkout Aisles

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