Cruelty
© Margaret Wesseling
Morning
Sun trees earth sky. Houses.
We live in this. In other
people. See a young guy
walk down the street
shoulders slumped face old
I don’t know why.
Old women scold.
Young women sneer in tight clothes
in clubs every night
until too fat or busy.
Unless you talk about it.
Unless, painful heart fire
happening seldom connect,
change things.
Afternoon
You do what you think’s possible
in the space you set up for you.
Another might do something else
something more. You do what you see.
Ordinary things and people.
How they’re knit together.
It’s specific--the tree outside
my window, the wind, a pattern.
The wall beyond that
and the alley to the street.
A boy walks there in new running shoes.
He’s going to see another boy,
play computer games. Cruel boy
cowardly cruel to dogs girls women.
Cruelty that stops at the first threat.
The boy will be occupied
for several hours. His mother is
waking up from her afternoon nap.
She yelled at him this morning.
Now it’s time to make dinner.
Her husband is cruel to her,
goes out with his friends,
cheats his customers.
She thinks it’s good
the boy learns to be cruel.
The world is like that
and he has to live here.
He tortures my dog.
One time someone came
back to the house who was
shuddering and startled.
She was so out
so left out so alone so old
and so on her own no one
could find her. She was
like a dust storm: no center
no way out. Only the wind
and phantoms.
She can only say
I don’t want you you don’t want me.
Like the alley walls.
Think about a place
away from it from the stupidities
a green hill I could walk up
all one morning
Evening
Grey
troubles me.
These faces, this work.
If I can spend an hour
or two dreaming
a break a return