#VirginiaIsForLovers

 

Only this state flag

includes, let alone features,

death - by sword and spear.

Only this state seal

threatens, in no unclear terms, 

death - and conquered crowns.

We rally around

not e pluribus unum1,

ad astra per aspera2,

qui transtulit sustinet3,

excelsior4, dirigo5,

montani semper liberi6,

si quaeris peninsulam amoenam - circumspice7,

or esto perpetua8,

but Death - to Tyrants9.

#VAisforlovers

1: out of many, one (North Dakota)

2: to the stars through difficulties (Kansas)

3: he who transplanted still sustains (Connecticut)

4: ever upward (New York)

5: I direct (Maine)

6: mountaineers are always free (West Virginia)

7: if you seek a pleasant peninsula look around (Michigan)

8: let it be perpetual (Idaho)
9: sic semper tyrannis (Virginia)

Pioche, Nevada

 

Leprechauns have placed

pots of black gold at the end

of modern rainbows.

At Larry's fuel shop,

iridescent oil slicks

bedazzle the drab.

To Subtract Fractions

These are not the words

one expects as a response

to encouragement.

Rather than rebuff

and court further entrenchment

on this battle line,

I laughed. Then we laughed.

Common denominators

being requisite

to solve this problem.

Sometimes we wax improper

to subtract fractions.

Verda Farnes

 

My great grandmother

croons her cabbages, couched in

C-major sunshine.

Four diminutive

Wyoming elves lean on spades,

hide near, parched to hear.

Orange Crush

I think I’m patient.

53 minutes after

my pizza is due,

I know I am not.

The best I can do is chat

with fellow suff’rers:

older door dash chap,

mom and her seven-year-old,

mother of teen boys.

Complaining binds us;

a mutual enemy

forges fast allies. 

I’m hot and ready.

I'm supremely frustrated.

Extra most madddest.

Others come and go.

I begin to conspire

with my gollum self

about my precious

ring of powerf’lly scented

dough, sauce, cheese, toppings.

We plot and script out

the politest way to ask

to whine to someone,

to wheedle our way

to two free pizza coupons

or something greater.

The grandma cashier

who should be retired and

playing with grandkids

- she who I despise

as the company’s face but

mostly pity - comes.

Apologizes.

Offers a free 2-liter.

I choose Orange Crush

and gush gratitude

for being seen, understood

before I went and

embarrassed myself

with a public display of

hangry aggression.

Am I spineless then?

Not standing up for myself?

Confrontation shy?

Accepting this cold

soda pop as recompense

for an hour of life?

Gollum shrieks out, “Take

action, Precious… revenge! Give

a taste of your pain!”

I take the pizzas and give a wave. 

I’ve got my spine. I’ve

got my self-restraint. And I’ve

got my Orange Crush.