Gypsy Jazz

(as it twirls itself into an artless rhyme)

A sideways smile
eased my thoughts
like a hand upon my back
or a light summer rain.

I voted for life
and freedom
and a tiny house
free of strife
and full of children at play.

We all voted for the same thing.

Campaign promises grew into pipelines,
Mother Nature’s amber alert
drowned out by the greed of the whole;
yet the prosperity of so very few.

Still, it’s warm in the month of May,
and no one complains about a sunny day.
Still, the flowers bloom
and the bees speed upon their way.
For these are the years before Nero will play.

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