Poetry

AFP photo

By

Rick Davis

Presidential Cabinet

Cockroaches rush from

stoic throats.

The sun cannot push

through iced air.

Visions of a bloody world.

In their eyes we become

a flock of dead birds.

They possess wild heads

and icicled arms.

They have mechanical minds.

As they speak

time tangles together

and carves

empty branches.

Bernie Sanders

you stood with dignity

during the debates

in a weed wilted shore

while others created

geometry without vocabulary.

as you spoke

i caught a glimpse

of stars swung low.

in political wilderness

you are the last

tree standing

offering an infinite field.

Sketches of Trump’s presidency

muddy ponds.

still lakes.

colors disappear –

blackness in varying shades.

air swells with dampness.

men in hard coats.

poisoned plants.

he has no hands –

this kind of bird

flies backward.

Rick Davis

Rick (Richard) Davis is married and lives in the Logan Square neighborhood of Chicago with his wife and grandchild. He graduated from Northeastern Illinois University, and has completed several graduate programs. He has published over 600 poems.