The door is not finished.

it needs a sweep,

a strip of rubber.

Protests and hatred and intolerance

of the ignorant heartland

where I live.

The car is 15 years old,

though it’s still good

by most measures.

Eight years ago

all were proud,

but now ashamed.

I check my work,

review the numbers

hoping my mistakes will be innocuous.

Children see the

courage and cowardice

and will be our future.

I’ve saved,

my time is near.

Is it enough?

Unrest and upheaval,

climate and virus,

are living in the shadows.

Have I been reasonable?

Have I been kind?

Have my sins been forgiven?

Dusk is upon us,

but the darkness

will yield to the soft morning light.

copyright 2016, joseph e bird