Volume 28, Number 4

Modern discussions

This upward—and often ugly—thrust of people everywhere
treading through the delicious snow to vote.
I find their autumnal hijinks rather spare,
reading idiocy in quote after copious quote.
Every four years we attempt to turn the churchkey
once—and once only—to the left or to the right,
never thinking but obstinately willing to descry
a path to oblivion through military might.
Going nose to nose, feelings overtake sweet reason—
the burnt sienna color of dried blood spilled
falling into the shadow of a world without season:
See the Armageddon prophecy fulfilled!
Peace seems impossible in this simple poem's rhyme
but oh, please, let me have it all until the end of time.

First and last lines by Lorine Niedecker.

—James P. Roberts