Weekend Poem

Carnage

We sit together on our balcony by the coast

Sipping coffee, reading the papers.

A plate of stacked toast

In repose on the table between us.

We meditate and take exaggerated deep breaths.

Complacent, self-assured smiles

After all the hard work, all the trekked miles.

I write in the margins of a magazine:

The surf gently laps against the shore

The ocean is a flat gray mat

Lapping and lolling

But the early morning ocean sheen

Unfurled before us is not a peaceful scene.

This is a heretofore unknown killing field

And the ashen water an impotent shield

Extending westward in ever deafening silence

Until it’s cut by a diamond blade of horizon

The predator birds swarm like wasps

We barely notice, lost in smug thoughts.

Watch now how the sharp beaked, black-eyed birds recklessly

Fling themselves into the sea

Scooping shimmery spear tips of silvery prey

Dozens of dive-bombing herons and gulls and terns

Swooping, darting, extracting

Sustenance from a world

where they don't belong

We exchange calm grins and sip from our mugs,

Slowly embalmed by the dense, humid air.

The balcony is warm but wordless.

This is our respite, our chance to repair

The broken promises, the forgotten half shrugs

While carnage plays out beneath the surface

12/17/17