Contingency

Contingency

A Poem by Robert Ronnow

The moon gazes
through April’s silver maple.

To work, to drive,
to drive to work.

Earth's half-in, half-out
of the sun’s habitable zone.

The rushing stream topples old trees;
the peaceful father, mother.

Powerful with eternity,
blinding with intensity.

Zazen position,
necking in the front seat.

Lazy, happy,
mirror, desert.

Moderation, persuasion, elections.
Way stations, stopgaps, safe havens.

Cheap jewelry can be sexy;
stop fixing things with duct tape!

Humor is the only remedy,
not to hate those in authority.

And ritual is remedy,
a death song.

Nothing but matter matters,
chipmunk, groundhog, skunk.

Do not provoke
an angry baboon.

Why care about the future,
the dead don’t live to see it.

I’ve come to see
if this is true.

© 2020 Robert Ronnow


Author's Note

Robert Ronnow
"Events will still pile up, with or without an identity willing to organize them.” --Rachel Cusk

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Added on May 11, 2020
Last Updated on May 11, 2020
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