Short Rentals Poems

A lonely yellow butterfly flits along a crisp fall breeze as other life forms seek out a warm refuge from the approaching night's freeze. Rigor mortise leaves lie shapeless in corpse patterns on my uncut late autumn lawn like soldiers lost in battle, all helpless to the coming elements of an Ohio winter. Naked trees reveal a last nest or two swaying in the breeze like abandoned tiny tenements quietly awaiting Mothers next season of rentals....

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It happens all the time 
the wrong people die 
like this time 
I dont remember the minute 
But The government Killed a baby 
They shot  her on the head 
They Named a street her name 
The street was called love  
I know who should have been killed 
The woman who stole  billions
And built new rentals 
Bought new Benzos 
Made Governor 
Became more famous
And the people in town
Couldn't afford  medicine 
And when their kids died 
There were no names on a street
...

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