HER BLUE ROBE
I was never a bishop, but the world's
A dream we die in. I breathe
Into a blue robe, take day lilies
From a jar out of her room
To a pail in the yard. Who would
Believe the grass growing so quickly
Between the bricks, the purslane
Spreading like rash over the patio.
We're done with her dresses, hangers
And plastic bags, the trunk of yarn.
Stepping over collapsed boxes of shoes,
I carry the last collection of holy cards
To the yard and burn the saints
With matches, that from these may grow
In full sight of her in pure stone,
The other life, continuing long.
Presidents and Vacations
"But...but...Barack Obama's golfing and the world's in a mess!"
The critics of vacationing presidents only notice these things when the guy from the other political party is the president, and HE's always doing it wrong!
BTW, presidents are NEVER on vacation because they bring the duties and responsibilities of the presidency with them wherever they go.
But the dear right wingers never miss an opportunity to bash this president because it's what keeps their fires lit.