DUANE ANDERSON

 

The Pacifist

 

With wind speeds clocking over fifty miles per hour,

nature was telling me to stay away

unless I wanted a fight.

I took her advice and stayed inside,

occasionally looking out the window

as the tree took a beating,

 

branches scattered over the yard,

while listening to its howls of delight.

Yes, I will wait for my turn, tomorrow,

when its anger had subsided.

Today, I am a pacifist,

waving a white flag in surrender.

 

Yet Another Choice In Life

 

All I wanted to do was go to the store to find

an insecticide to kill some ants that had been

congregating by the front door of the house.

 

Little did I know I would have so many choices,

lemon scent, orange scent, lavender scent,

and not to be undone, an outdoor fresh scent,

 

and even with so many choices, I was not tempted

to smell each one as some might do when checking

out which perfume or cologne to purchase,

 

because somehow, I didn’t quite think it would

be beneficial for my health to smell the fumes for

something that was meant to kill ants and roaches,

 

and I very much doubted if the ants would care

which scent I used, so from the four fragrances,

I chose the outdoor fresh scent which

 

seemed something to best to blend in

with the scent already outdoors.

As for the ants, I would tell them goodbye,

 

so long, as I sprayed the territory they had invaded,

and maybe say a little prayer

as I bury them in a mass grave in the backyard.

 

Graffiti

 

The graffiti artist wrote ‘Wash Me’

on the rear window of a car

completely covered by dust,

using only their finger instead of the usual tools

of the trade, that of a handy can of spray paint,

and I wondered if the car owner called

the police to file a report about the graffiti,

and if the police took any finger prints

from the car to help them identify the felon

if it was truly being considered as a crime,

or instead, just laughing it off, as they wrote

him up for reporting a bogus crime

advising him what he probably should

have done in the first place, by just

washing his car to remove those words?

In the end, the car remained unwashed,

leaving the words in place, after all,

it seemed to be who he was,

one to do nothing.

 

Forty-One Steps

 

They moved into an apartment,

and were given three options to choose from,

something on the first floor

with no steps to maneuver,

or the second floor with only

twenty-one steps to walk up,

but there was also a third option,

the one that they chose,

the third floor with forty-one steps.

It had the maximum number of steps

for the apartment complex, definitely not

suited for someone looking for senior living,

but then they were young,

and that wasn’t the purpose of the complex.

 

I asked where was the elevator,

where was the escalator,

or can’t you just beam me up,

but those technologies were not in place,

so I made the trip, many, many times,

up and down, down and up,

the result, the same each time,

sore legs for an old man as I helped out,

but I was one of the lucky ones,

not having to make as many trips

carrying furniture and boxes

as the ones moving into the apartment did.

 

Now that all the furniture and boxes are all moved in,

and the boxes are slowly getting unpacked,

there is time to relax in the evening on their balcony

as they enjoy the view of the city,

and watching the deer come out to graze,

one of the two benefits of living on the third floor,

the view, and the exercise from their new stair climber.

 

DUANE ANDERSON

 

DUANE ANDERSON currently lives in La Vista, NE.  He has had poems published in Fine Lines, Cholla Needles, Tipton Poetry Journal, and several other publications. He is the author of ‘On the Corner of Walk and Don’t Walk,’ ‘The Blood Drives: One Pint Down,’ and ‘Conquer the Mountains.’