Finding A Way
After forcing a landing on a highway
Trumpites seize my foreign everything,
forcing me to ignite my shoes
and escape in the ensuing chaos.
An hour later my cab driver
tells me our only hope is prayer.
I tell him life is a yellow light
and in no time we are here,
safe in my safest safe house,
where the blind clerk, Constantine,
remembers the rasp of my voice
as he fingers the edge of my key.
True to myself I am the perfect guest,
a clean ash tray, an untouched Bible,
a man devoted to leaving knowing
everyone wants him to stay, to keep
up the good work, which decoded
means “somebody do something.”
and so we all rush to the roof top,
take out our sandwiches, and wait.
Post Election 2017
Indifference becomes our prison.
Day by day we diminish, rats
who can’t find the kitchen while
the king rat dines on women,
then insists his fences and hotels
will to free us to fill our cups with
the rising salt waters that will
become our shared poison.
Norman Klein has published in Ploughshares (twice), EPOCH, and The Beloit Poetry Journal, plus 60 more poems in other LitMags and Journals. He has taught in Boston, Cambridge, Chicago, and now lives and writes in the back woods of New Hampshire.