---

 

This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “a Stretch of Highway” Down in the Dirt, v179 (the January 2021 Issue) Order the paperback book:

Order this writing that appears in the one-of-a-kind anthology Excerpts from the Plague Years the Down in the Dirt Jan.-April 2021 issues collection book		get the 420 page Jan.-April 2021 Down in the Dirt 6" x 9" ISBN# perfect-bound paperback book:

Excerpts from the Plague Years

Kenneth Canatsey

I
The crazies have taken over the asylum.
They have locked the doors and pocketed the keys.
They let us out at their pleasure
and watch us as we come and go.

Yes, we are exceptional!
A cornucopia of entrepreneurs!
Billions in incentives!
Billions more in profits!
But where are the test kits?

Look for them at the bottom of a polluted pond
Where the big fish swallow the little fish.

But they said they would save small businesses!
The private sector, they said, will solve the problem.
But the ones who could make it happen are MIA —
The same leaders who are tested every day!
It gets me thinking.

Rome had the greatest army of the ancient world —
before their legions started killing off their emperors,
anointing from among their own ranks new emperors.
Still, in their heyday they leveled Carthage, sowed the earth
with salt, burned the Temple of Jerusalem to the ground
and stormed Masada.

But Rome was also a vector of disease.

We too have our histories to edit, our skeletons to bury.
When Agent Orange poisoned the green Holy Eden of Nam,
when Shock and Awe cratered the ancient streets of Baghdad
and Fat Boy — in a flash! — reduced a city and its people
to smoldering ash. Be proud of your history.

You want to set a standard, said the Lady of the House.

This is a disease that started at the top —
with the jet-sitters, the A-listers, the one percent —
and percolated down
to become the poor persons plague.

Let the good earth heal.

Let the fat and sleek grow ears that hear
as Amos spoke it in the wastes of Judah, as
Elijah spoke it on the green High Places of Mount Carmel.
Without a vision the people perish.

Let the good earth rest.

Did we birth a nation that eats its young?
That leaves its working poor the excrement?
A nation of shopkeepers, yes —
but what happens when the shops close down,
padlock their doors, nail up the windows
and let their workers go?

Jamie D, I see your fangs!

I’m the President and you’re fake news!
The press is the Enemy of the People!
Does anyone think I really care? Said Madam Pompidou,
showing us her backside. Grab em by the pussy!
And remember, even when I’m wrong, I’m right.

And the word was made flesh and dwelt among us,
as our stress levels spike.

No, AR15s do not make us stronger!
Hate and hot rhetoric do not bind and heal.
And in these broken states, division is not the answer.
Is it foolish to believe that somewhere
beyond the babble there is a silent spring?

Let the earth rest, let the good earth rest.

Let the noosphere heal. Let our psyches heal.
Let the towhee and the snowy plover
Return. Let them build their nests,
And may the good earth heal.

Employers, protect your workers!
Workers, do no harm.
Let them both pledge fealty to Hippocrates.
Poets, parse your memes

and give your bread to be broken for the world.
Study to do good! And so learn how to be as
wise as serpents and as gentle as doves
as the Good Teacher said.

O blazing Lord, O silent Lord,
Lord of the Middle Way,
lead us where you wish we go.

O hidden Lord, patient Lord -
Tao Lord -
teach us what we need to know.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...