Citrus fruit is extremely inconsistent right now.
Not as bad as in February.
One week I eat oranges
and there is juice,
there is sweetness,
there is vitality.
The next they are hopelessly
flavorless messes
with tough skins
which are bitter,
and require washing.
There is still taste
(unlike in February)
but a deft hand is required
to coax their sweetness from them.
I have gorged myself on oranges
until they’ve lost their sweetness
and are wickedly bruised.
I am alive
off the juice and fleshy segments
I’ve stolen from them,

               I pick up Karen and my dinner,
consisting of shrimp fried rice,
General Tso Chicken,
and one vegetarian egg roll.
Beyond the counter
I look deep into the kitchen
at a young cook,
no older than 19.
He’s new here,
and speaks in his native language.
Mandarin? Szechwan, or Hunan province?
I am not versed enough in his dialect,
but he is a cook,
and we all speak in the same tongue:
“order, FIRE, pick up, on the fly!”
Mach schnell, bitte!

a casual word here
an angry word there
just who are the people who care
were are the justice seeking citizens
wanting to put an end to the tyranny
of those who are our so called leaders
we need words of truth
we need heartbeats of love
and thoughts of light
to ignite
the fires
which will inspire
a new beginning.

(c)2007.1.7 Lenny Gazbowski

“Why don’t you clean the house?”

Because for the past  three days I have been caked with mud,

and must clean myself.

“Why don’t you eat off the Styrofoam plates?”

I have eaten off Styrofoam for three days,

and my life is not disposable.

“What burned you?”

For three days my wings were burnt up

like Icarus.

“Who is Icarus?”

His wings were burnt,
and his wax melted.

“Who is Icarus?”

The son of Daudalus.

“Why is there sand on the back of your legs?”

                                                          Friday night just after nine
on the last Friday of June, 2007.
Here, at the Findley Lake shelter house
Joshua and I have learned about the nocturnal habits
of Ohio’s eleven species of bats.