i wanted to write
a poem 
that rhymes 
but revolution doesn't lend 
itself to be-bopping 

then my neighbor 
who thinks i hate 
asked—do you ever write 
tree poems—i like trees
so i thought 
i'll write a beautiful green tree poem 
peeked from my window 
to check the image 
noticed that the school yard was covered 
with asphalt 
no green - no trees grow 
in manhattan 

then, well, i thought the sky 
i'll do a big blue sky poem 
but all the clouds have winged 
low since no-Dick was elected 

so i thought again 
and it occurred to me 
maybe i shouldn't write 
at all 
but clean my gun 
and check my kerosene supply 

perhaps these are not poetic 
times 
at all