"Have You About Had It?" by Hans Ostrom

You may have thought you were somebody.
Somebody like a joiner of wood or of metal pipes;
Like a CEO or a president;
A tribal elder; a teacher; a preacher; a shop steward.
Pillar of the community!
Maybe you thought you were a performer,
An artist; a critic—setter of tastes;
Or a citizen, oh yes—the authorities
Definitely want to know what you think.

Fool, you have been little more than an ox.
Ox, you have been little more than a fool.
You have been in harness, hauling the loads
Of shit that needs doing. You’ve been
Having your body and spirit broken,
Is what you’ve been up to. Boulders
Receive more respect than you. You’re
Worn out. You’ve been had. You’ve
About had it.

Lime Cove

*
*
*

Lime Cove


Charlotte sings a lullaby
to her bedroom, making sure
it's slow asleep before she
quicks herself away. Charlotte
and the night are in a kind
of clanky love. She says
to her doorbell, "Please come
in," and washes from it all
those oily index-finger prints.

Solicitations, she thinks, take up
so much of our lives. Asking,
answering. "God," she asks,
"help me to find a place in pause,
a site, a situation, for it seems
I am defeated by the business
of each day."  Charlotte knows

she hasn't earned or isn't due
a special treatment. She also
knows she isn't out of line
in asking for some cease of
time, a cove carved out of
lime, where a pod of echoes
soaks itself in brine.


Copyright 2011 Hans Ostrom