Peace In The Shrug

Peace in the shrug
as you pull the first two red tomatoes
from your garden only to notice
they’ve been consumed
by bottom rot, the chagrin
you feel at not catching that
earlier, the casual toss into
the base of the fence,
the sudden awareness
of the nearly ripe cucumber 
hanging on that fence.

Peace in the shrug
at choices made, choices
that failed to pan out, choices
that went south or north or
every direction not on the compass
without an ounce of malice from anyone
involved, people living their lives
that did or did not intersect with 
your own, and the failure
of will, the utter failure of
all your will, then one day
the twenty dollar bill on the ground
at the foot of the pay phone where
you just spent your last dime, and that
was thirty years ago,
and how you remember it, and how
it pays you even today.

Peace in the shrug
at the end of the world, the end
of order and justice, the shambling
walk of the long-awaited Beast,
the pseudo-shambolic walk of the
Giant No, the edible flesh of 
Harmony, the smacking of 
thin jaws around the bones of
All You’ve Held Dear, and now
at the very close of the last snap
of those jaws the silence
of the sunset, and the dawn
beyond your own experience
that will come, that will surely
come even without you.

Peace in the shrug
as you pass, with your last thought
forming around how the seeds
from the tomatoes you tossed
will grow there in the dirt along the fence 
as long as rain falls and sun shines
next season, with or without you
there to moan, or wail,
or shrug such miracles off
as too little, too late, 
when they were never meant 
to feed you.

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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

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