Three poems by Michael Shorb

Poetry
by Michael Shorb

ENVIRONMENTAL REPORT

Celebrating synapses of dubious
authenticity the upcoming
vote in the Congress of Clowns
heavily lobbied by well-dressed and
well-endowed slaves of
the meat and sugar industries-

Investment strategies are swept from
coffer tables of the rich and fatuous,
ground into floors of the Age of Reason-

Caught in the maw of global
warming the rabbit-eyed wetlands
shrink to a torrid vanishing point.
That's not fair in the witch's mirror
or the evaporating glacier
or anywhere else by the time
dusty African villagers starve and
the last light bulb for 100
miles flickers out-

But the sermon's been canceled in favor
of 24-hour barbecue and polar
bears smoke cigarettes in the shade
of Alaskan taverns and you,
if you carry a six figure
mortgage, watch yourself-

they're itching for a fight.

--------------------

HOW TO WRITE A POEM ABOUT DARFUR

You start with
a handful of twigs
the pulsing heat of
the walls of the veins
throbbing as those
who are hunted

run
across
a landscape
engloomed by a dry
smog of fear

add a black-clad sound
swallowing the moon:

janjaweed
janjaweed

too nice a word for
these human vultures
gathered around the only
well for fifty miles

men who came to draw
water were machine-
gunned, women who came
next broken in their
bones, dragged into
blood wet shade
raped over
and over by glassy-eyed
thugs wielding their
phalluses like thorn-
studded clubs,

at last, desperate for water,
refugees resorted
to sending their children
and a few donkeys,

many times, even the janjaweed
allow the children
to drink.

---------------------

RUSH LIMBAUGH SMOKES A CUBAN
CIGAR, ALONE ON THE BALCONY
OF HIS FLORIDA MANSION

He drags himself out
into the sunlight, everything
harder to move around
these days, all heat
tending to make him sweat,
snips off the requisite
chunk and fires
lean butane flame
into the tube,
which yields,
crackling,
gushing the aroma
of Caribbean fields,
damn commies have to make
the best cigars, he snorts
out loud, frenchies
the best cognac,
chinese all the steel
and electronics,
japs and germans
all the cars,
arabs all the oil.

Well, what the hell?
He smiles, face clouded
by sweet cuban smoke,
the radio’s good.

And he smiles again,
thinking of radio.


Author bio:

Michael Shorb's work reflects an abiding interest in environmental issues, history, and the lyrical form, as well as a satirical focus on present day trends and events. His poems have appeared in over 100 magazines and anthologies, including The Nation, The Sun, Michigan Quarterly Review, Queen's Quarterly, Poetry Salzburg Review, Commonweal, Religious Humanism, Shoofly, Rattle, Urthona, and European Judaism, as well as such anthologies as A BELL RINGING IN AN EMPTY SKY (Mho and Mho Works), TO BE A MAN (Tarcher Press), NAMES IN A JAR: 100 AMERICAN POETS (Hood Press), UNDERGROUND VOICES: DRUGS, GUNS, AND CRAZY DETECTIVES, and (upcoming) THE GREAT AMERICAN POETRY SHOW 2.