Due to technical problems beyond our control, Monday’s Poem of the Week is being posted late today, instead of our usual time. We apologize for the delay, but hope you enjoying the following piece, which, at least to me, appears timely for many today.
Everything is nervous here, vibrating
to the hum of air conditioning.
Outside, the palms are never still.
Inside, palms sweat in high anxiety.
Even the indifferent chameleon
sunning on the hot veranda
blows his red sac as a warning.
On the Gulf a tropical depression
brews a hurricane. Depression
in this place is deeper still,
this space where hopes die,
wishes fail, silent waiting ends
as the next white-coated person
speaks of trying everything.
And the coldness that comes then
makes the heat of anger welcome,
like the coming storm.
Robert L. Jones