After Attending the Funeral of a Centenarian, Phaedra (Approaching Four) Muses on the Subject of Mortality

Papa, 

I know Granny Sophy died 
Yesterday because I saw her dead, 

But I’m going to read as much poetry 
As I can and then try 

To write it so I don’t. 

Empathy of a Third Kind

Each village with a madman—might it be 
The work of the wind blowing in 

One ear and out 
The other 

Inconsolable as can be? 

Greek Occupation

Before the war, my father worked 
His small, patchy wheat fields
Wearing rough sandals 
Made of used tire treads, 
But he still put bread on our table. 

When the German boot came, 
He walked barefoot with no
Bread to be found anywhere— 
Another story altogether, 
But the kernel remains the same. 

Alarums

cocky insouciant plump 
roosters ring in 
false dawn like clockwork 
. 

lean crepuscular jackals 
in thicket clear throats 
cry out in unison
. 

same bloody refrain 
drones through vale 
of death daily
. 

again and again 

Idiot Boxed in Real Time

Once upon a time, 
At a loss with what 
To do with his id 

Most of the time 
The couch potato 
Just sat on it 

And waited 
For it to sit back 
All of the time.