Neighborly

This is a neighborhood of gardens

garage sales and lawn art and, of

course, slogans, like “black lives

matter” and the ones that bring

together a set of slogans covering

all the bases, black lives again and

something about women’s rights,

immigrants, and gay rights, and they

remind us that love is love. Now

there are an endless supply of flags

some U.S. but mostly Ukrainian. We

live the times and capture the mood,

flowers of various shades and sizes

and now since it’s primaries time we

set up lawn signs endorsing one or

another of the candidates, Becca

seems to carry one street and Molly

another. We divide up along liberal

lines, signs, slogans and flowers, and

people sitting in lawn chairs trying so

hard to sell off things they no longer

have a use for and a few cars pull up

looking for a bargain. This neighbor-

hood has never been much of a bargain

basement but an easy spender of words.

                                     In Line
Perhaps it’s instinct, perhaps it’s one of those cultural things

That grow up with us, become part of us through training and

Discipline, something passed on, parent to child generation to

Generation. We all know the rules, what we must do, and what

We must not do if we want to belong, fit in, like everyone else

Around us. We gather and quickly learn our place. This is what

Lining up is all about. It’s time passing, it’s standing and waiting

For something, the something we must believe comes next. This

Is how we belong, become members of the group, the group in

Line for the next show at the movie theater, in line waiting to

Check into our flight, in line for the cruise ship, in line for just

About anything we see as an objective, and they have the ability

Thwart our desire or need. They depend on our instinct and on 

Our willingness to go along and be part of a group lined up in

Order, first come, first served. This keeps everything so civilized,

No crashing, no pushing and shoving, no demanding attention,

None of those things. Now we are in line, and we wait. We might

Complain but never too loudly. We were trained to do this and

Half of our lives will be used up this way.


              Airport Waiting
Standard advice says arrive two hours before
Your flight, but in a small airport

The advice seems ironic.

Here we are two hours early

And now we wait

Collect in surprising numbers

Sit together by the assigned gate

And wait

Are we being set up?

Set up for a mass shooting?

Can’t we picture the gunman going by

The TSA oddly enough still armed.

The news will say something about our group

Husbands and wives, parents and children

Friends and relatives

All there

Following the standard advice

Two hours early, so why not become big news

We listened so carefully

And so here we are

Sitting ducks wanting anything beyond

This two hour wait

Two hours we’ll never get back!

J. K. Durick is a retired writing teacher and online writing tutor. His recent poems have appeared in Third Wednesday, Black Coffee Review, Literary Yard, Sparks of Calliope, Synchronized Chaos, Madswirl, Journal of Expressive Writing, Lightwood, and Highland Park Poetry.