What They Want

“You can’t insert your faith in politics,”
They say, “for oil and water do not mix.”
But what they mean is this: In its place
They put a human idol, hate by race,
And false equality, a social trial
Which fails repeatedly, deluded guile
And guilt of all the evil that they accuse—
What they want is for good faith to lose.

At My Desk, Late at Night

In the distance, faint, indistinct sounds:
An engine laboring up a steep incline,
The low rumble of thunder miles away,
A guard dog barking at dry and swirling leaves,
Distorted music mixed with party voices,
An unseen jet’s long echo in the sky —
Close by, creaking wood under my elbows,
The clink of melting ice in an empty glass,
The thunk, thunk of water in the drain.
Another Sunday gone, the saints dispersed,
An evening prayer, a slow and deepening slumber.