Michael Brownstein stood up stretching,
walked into the flowers
and away from the rest of the world:
goodbye is not a refrain,
it's just another label on a pair of jeans.
This is a goodbye poem
goodbye to the turkeys wandering onto our patio,
goodbye to the bald eagle who flew with our train,
goodbye to the doe nuzzling the small back of her mother,
goodbye to the snow melting into streams of flood waters,
goodbye to the winter and its warmth of surprises,
goodbye to on and on and on
When there are one hundred fifty eight wolves in a place,
they are endangered and can no longer be hunted,
but these hunters can come for us, with words
and noise and everything that brings us to our knees
once this time of government terror begins.
they are endangered and can no longer be hunted,
but these hunters can come for us, with words
and noise and everything that brings us to our knees
once this time of government terror begins.
Wait: it has already started.
--Michael Brownstein
--Michael Brownstein
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