J. K. DURICK - POEMS

J. K. Durick is a writing teacher at the Community College of Vermont and an online writing tutor. His recent poems have appeared in Social Justice Poetry, 1947, Poetry Super Highway, Synchronized Chaos, and Algebra of Owls.

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                                        24 Hour News


After the latest event, another bit of bad news
A political sleight of hand or two, still or again
 
It goes on around the clock, poked at enough
It’s pondered into shape, interviews aplenty
 
Experts and strategists, columnist and pundits
The news generates itself, a perpetual motion
 
We watch patiently, faithfully, surround ourselves
With opinions, analysis, mark progress with
 
A press conference, a photo op, breaking news
Broken up, broken down, it never rests, goes on
 
In the dark, does its rounds on our bleakest days
Sheds some light, like shadows on the cave wall
 
We occupy our day, test the limits of our insomnia
It’s what we’ve come to and where we’re going.

 

                                          Eating Disorder


Eating slowly, not wolfing it, chewing well, trying
everything on our plates, beets were good for us,
broccoli, cauliflower, monkfish, liver, we couldn’t
leave till our plates were clean, cleared of debris
and then when we were particularly good about it
all, we got dessert, our just desserts for a job done
according to plan, menu, good manners, the clean
plate club they called it as we’d slip away before
they mentioned helping with clearing up, the table,
washing, drying, putting the dishes away, the ritual
of it all, we were learning, it consumed our time,
taught us the importance of appearance, of deception
how to hide things we’re doing, of sleight of hand,
of going along with things, of more than we wanted,
and how the approval of others becomes important
and how we can out-wait them, sometimes sitting for
what seemed like hours, staring at a plate that is never
going to be empty enough. 



                                             Whether Weather


Whether weather weathers us so
we really won’t know
for some time
 
but, we storm, we squall, it rains on
our parade, our picnic,
we bake
 
burn, sun ourselves, shades on
boil, broil, then crowd,
then cloud
darken our days to night, sprinkle
stars, a slice of moon,
a cool breeze
 
finally, the humid comments of day
pass away, forgotten,
but turn chilly
 
a cold shoulder to lie on, a blank
stare to stare out
an empty window
 
we remember snow, we remember
ice, knee deep
with cold-cold hands
 
we ask about temperatures, the prospect
of rain, these days it raineth
every day
 
we watch, we weather, dampen, darken
wake each morning,
hoping for better.
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