Poetry

Reuters photo

By

Abigail Rathbone

The Nominee

Trump’s made the grade and now it’s clear

Our polity’s degraded.

He claims this country’s full of fear,

Degenerate and jaded.

What will it prove if he’s the guy

Who triumphs as our leader?

It matters not how much you lie

As long as you defeat Her?

Abandon Hope if you’ve assumed

We occupied some high ground

“For the people” may be doomed

And can’t come back around.

What was a joke now’s far too real,

The Devil’s read “Art of the Deal”.

1931

A small family gathering

In the huge Berlin apartment

Was full of fun.

The little 4 year old ballerina

Allowed to show off her tutu

Twirled through the room to

Great applause.

Jumping from her nurse’s arms

The 2 year old tried to imitate her

Sister, this time to applause but also

Much amused laughter. She was

Enraged, wanting the respect

Her sister’s dancing drew. “Not that

Clapping, not that clapping,” she sobbed,

And the relatives

Laughed harder, it was so funny.

Most, but not all of them,

Escaped to America.

The elderly sisters now speak every day

And occasionally, for the relief of tears

The fading memories bring, all one has to

Say to the other is

“Not that clapping”.

A Friend’s Memoir

A friend’s 300 page memoir

Is the startling sequella of a

Near death experience.

Previously blocked, a torrent

Of details, meticulously recalled

Comes bursting forth like water

From a rock–he said, she said,

The old Ford leaked and failed on the

Road between here and there on

Highway 35–so many trips and

Trajectories. Every nuance, every

Cat’s meow.

How is this all

Recalled so suddenly, the past

Erupting like magma from a vent,

Scaring the Bejesus in those of us

At the same point in life

Still struggling to forget.

Abigail Rathbone

Abigail Rathbone has been writing both short fiction and poetry “on and off” for 50+ years. A retired copywriter she now spends much of her time buying and selling old books, some of which she reads.