DEGREES OF LAW
Hot, cold, wet or dry,
how we whine to Washington
about the weather
as if consensus ensures comfort.
They name hurricanes
like outlaws as if we might
imprison them, but short of that
we’ll find an acronym to blame.
Never at peace, the planet breathes,
gouged and throttled as it flinches –
we are the flies and ticks on its hide
making a living and carrying disease.
Still, there ought to be a law
against gypo lighters, plastic
shrapnel across the dusty, desert
battlefield of my pickup’s dash –
a little Lebanon and Israel
parked with windows up
to keep the tomcat out
in one hundred ten degrees.