Roast Chicken (2008)

A roasted chicken

Comes out of the oven

Needing to be deboned

Skin removed     grease

Poured out of the roaster

Into an empty soup can

From the freezer

Waiting to be filled

 

This job surrounds

More than an hour

Of my afternoon

Leaves a mess

Reminds me of the president

The pile of disasters

Created by him

And his administration

As bones lie splayed

On the bottom of the roaster

Greasy skin

Against the sides

 

Afterwards

The kitchen is cleaned up

Grease can full of grease

Put back in the freezer

Chicken bones in a pot

Ready to make soup

Skin packed safely away

In a garbage pail

And the meat

Cut into pieces

For chicken salad

Order is restored

Again

 

Now

Time to clean up

The real mess

I want to vacuum

The White House

Sweep its occupants

Out the door

Hose down the Congress

Scrub the Pentagon

With soapy water

And gallons of disinfectant

Fumigate

The Department of Justice

The FBI     the CIA

Harder

Much harder

Than roasting a

Chicken

 

*Wendy crafted this poem after President Barak Obama was elected in 2008. It was first published in her 2014 collection, Reflections. I publish it today, November 8, 2020, one day after Joe Biden was declared President Elect, with a sense of hope that perhaps decency, compassion, intelligence, and sanity may return to our country, our hearts, and our homes. —Dina McQueen, blog manager

A Different Light

Light from this day

Recedes

Into approaching dusk

I watch it clinging

Still

To green leaves of the

Crepe Myrtle

To scarlet blossoms

On the hibiscus

The far off hills

And as it darkens

Out my window

 

Inside my room

The bedside lamp is

Lit

Creating a different

Light

Mellow warmth

Caresses the walls

And a feeling of being

Cocooned    shielded

From political storms

Settles in me

As I greet the coming

Night

In grateful    Peace

 

 

 

Beyond The Word

images-1

As a little girl

I hear disparaging comments

Made by the adults

In my life

Judgments of people

Even people unknown

Walking down a street

In a store

Though these words do not consume

Sunday dinner conversation

Around Grandmother’s mahogany

Dining table

They are spoken often enough

To create in me

Aversion to judgmental words

Criticism

I hear them     shrink into myself

Sadness moves into a corner

Of my heart

Doesn’t move out

 

My childhood is a patchwork quilt

Of remembering

Scenes of places     faces     voices

Yes     voices

For I have come to understand

It is not words alone

That cause pain

Even more

It is the tone of voice

I hear it

Clench     constrict

Hold my breath

It has always been so

 

Mother seldom speaks of father

Who leaves their marriage

When I am seven years old

But her tone of voice

When she does speak of him

Lets me know the depth

Of her bitterness

I feel devastated

Helpless

 

Now I understand     accept

My reactions     my despair

Surrounding this election cycle

I am witness to

Words never heard before

As they hang in the consciousness

Of everyone who hears them

Vocal tones of ridicule

Scorn

Project the words into the atmosphere

And the feelings they create

Invade like toxic fumes

From the tragedy of

9/11

 

Now     at 84

Words   tones of voice

May still sting

Bring distress

But it is my voice

My words

And what they do

To others

That matter more

I praise

I bless

I forgive

 

I breathe

Save

Save

Save

Save

Beyond Redemption

yelling

Across the sky

Blue    blue

As my grandfather’s

Eyes

Clouds    white as angel wings

Might be

Undefined edges

Soft as baby hair

Float slowly in a promenade

Above my head

Eyes pull the scene

Into a place of

Remembering

I will draw it out

Create protection

Against the harshness

Of these times

Words    threats     accusations

Scatter like scraps of waste

Paper

That litter     soil     what is

Left

Of our political innocence

And I tell you this

There is a cancer

In the gut of the

Body Politic

It must be removed

Cut away

Before it will metastasize

Beyond    redemption

*photo credit