THE FOUR YEAR PRANK

by David Feela

Image source: campusghanta

It’s not so difficult to believe Manti Te'o.
For the last four years I thought Congress
might come to a meaningful bipartisan
decision, but I was duped.  I trusted

the banks with my home, the stock market
with my retirement, the doctors and
insurance companies with my health,
but I presumed too much.  I was so sure

that terrorists lived abroad, were denied
access to our theaters, malls, and schools. 
Of course I’m gullible, but there’s so much
I want to believe, even if I can’t see it.

Talk to me with a tender voice, tell me
the next four years will be better.


David Feela writes a monthly column for The Four Corners Free Press and for The Durango Telegraph. A poetry chapbook, Thought Experiments, won the Southwest Poet Series. His first full length poetry book, The Home Atlas appeared in 2009. His new book of essays, How Delicate These Arches  , released through Raven's Eye Press, has been chosen as a finalist for the Colorado Book Award.

LETTER IN WHICH I THANK THE PRESIDENT FOR NOT INVITING ME TO READ AT HIS INAUGURAL

by J.R. Solonche

Dear Mr. President:

Thank you for not inviting me to read
at your inaugural.

Believe me, when I heard that that other poet,
that Blanco, got the nod, I was relieved.

Let me tell you, I spent days and days,
weeks in fact, occupied with nothing but America,

I steeped myself in America,
I breathed America, I ate America, I slept America,

I studied maps of America, that familiar two-handled shape,
I gazed at pictures of grain in amber waves,

I read the Declaration, I read the Constitution,
I read the Gettysburg Address, twenty times, I read Jefferson,

I read Adams, I read de Tocqueville, I read Franklin, I read Paine,
I read Huckleberry Finn, I read Moby Dick,

I read The Scarlet Letter, I read An American Tragedy,
I read Walt, I read Ralph Waldo, I read Emily,

I read Wallace, I read Robert, I read William Carlos,
I looked at every Norman Rockwell calendar I could find,

I looked at every Mathew Brady photograph I could find,
I listened to Gershwin, I listened to Ellington, I listened to Joplin,

I listened to Presley, I listened to Ives,
I listened to The New World Symphony, three times a day,

I rented every John Wayne movie I could find,
I ate potatoes three times a day, I ate corn three times a day,

I ate apple pie three times a day,
I drank bourbon, I drank hard cider.

And after all this saturation in America,
when I sat down to write an inaugural poem,

Mr. President, I drew a zero, nothing came,
the only word I could write was the one word America,

so what did I do? Let me tell you, I just started Yankee-
doodling around to see if anything would inspire me,

but all I got was acirema and I am acer and race aim and am Erica
and I care, ma, or Ma, I care.

So thank you Mr. President, for not inviting me
to read at your inaugural. Let Blanco do it. I’m a blank.

Sincerely,
J.R. Solonche


J.R. Solonche is co-author (with wife Joan Siegel) of Peach Girl: Poems for a Chinese Daughter (Grayson Books). His poems have appeared in many magazines, journals, and anthologies since the 1970s. He teaches at SUNY Orange in Middletown, New York.

CLIMATE CHANGE

by David Chorlton

 

Image source: The Climate Reality Project

 

After the recorded message

came a living voice

asking for help in stopping the president

weeks before his inauguration.

Which of these issues do you think

is most important?

I said Climate change,

she spoke right over me, beginning with

Voter fraud, and I repeated myself.

Then she suggested the assault

on second amendment rights.

Climate change.

She pretended not to hear, and went on

to repealing Obamacare.

I told her nothing else would matter

when the planet gasps for breath.

She named the candidate

who would lead the way

and asked if I’d help.

Why did you call this number?

She told me I must have supported the cause

in the past. I told her

What matters is Climate change.

She assured me it isn’t too early

to begin sending money.

Let me get this right; we’re heading

into the future fully armed

with God’s love to guide us,

the stars and stripes flying, marching to Souza

and glory bound. She paused a few seconds

before saying

Yes, and I could tell right then

that in politics, the climate

will never change.

 

 

David Chorlton has lived in Phoenix since 1978, and still sees his surroundings with an outsider's eye. This helps his writing projects, which include a new poetry collection, "The Devil's Sonata," from FutureCycle Press.