I keep thinking about the LA fires. Today is the first day I woke up and didn't see the fires at the top of my newsfeed. I hope that's a good sign. I've been thinking of all the LA poets I admire, hoping they are safe. I thought I'd post a poem by LA poet, Rick Bursky, in honor of these nightmarish times.
Here We Go Again
by Rick BurskyIt’s hot. The empty sky begins to melt.
In the shade of a tree, a peregrine falcon
Is eyed nervously by a pigeon.
An old barber chuckles to himself as he searches
The backroom for bloody rags
And someone’s mother sweeps up the broken mirror.
When the sun sets, all hell will break loose.
After all, this is the end of world,
The credits are about to scroll on the clouds.
Whoever is left will have to start over —
A new pocket protector for their shirt,
A hunting rifle useless until gunpowder is invented again.