Going Backwards by Tom Hatch

I lived mostly 2 decade after world war 2
Most mornings I would be more or less insane,
The newspapers would arrive with their careless stories,
The news would pour out of various black and white devices
Interrupted by attempts to sell products to the unseen.
My parents would call friends on party line phones
They would be more or less mad for similar reasons.
Slowly I would get to my pen and paper,
Make my drawings for others unseen and unborn.
In the day to night I would be reminded of those men
Brave in Nam setting up signals across vast distances,
Considering a nameless way of living, of almost unimagined values.
As the lights darkened, as the lights of night brightened,
We would try to imagine them, try to find each other,
To construct peace, to make love, to reconcile
Waking with sleeping, ourselves with each other,
Ourselves with ourselves. We would try by any means
To reach the limits of ourselves, to reach beyond ourselves,
To let go the means, to wake.

I lived in that second decade after the world war
We/they changed the world
Now others want to change it back six decades ago.
With niggers and beaners and gays in the closet
One step away from suicide
Women with open coat hangers
Muslims not a problem then
They say we should have known back then
And killed them then they think.

Burnt Early Evening by Tom Hatch

Hi she said don’t
I get a kiss, oh sure I pecked
Peck alcoholic I said,
The flower pots got knocked over by
The rain she said
Was it the wind or
The rain I said
The rain came down
In sheets didn’t you see the
Rain knocked over everything
She said, I was 50
Miles away in the city
I don’t know I said,

And don’t put your
Umbrella on the silk carpet
She said, it is only
Damp at the top
I said, then I said
It was good enough for
Your dog to take a
Shit on that you told me
To clean up,

I cleaned it as I
Heard a giggling girl in my
Son’s room that he met
At the restaurant
Where he washes dishes
His first job

The thunder and lightning
Starts again the dog shit comment
Made the rain
Heavily drooping all her flowers

The gutters are overflowing
She said, I saw a stick up there
You never do anything did you
Clean them out she said
I cleaned them I said
Hearing the young girl in my son’s
Room above squealing with an orgasm