diffusion of responsibility

Undigested thoughts,

malignant ideas and

licking the frosting off a dream.

Dressing up as Bozo,

sitting under the

Pawpaw tree,

wondering if the

cataclysmic knowledge

that the gray rains

of my mind

will dampen my mood.

The festering wounds

lurking beneath

the stork's nest

bring tumultuous pangs of guilt

frustration

angst

dysfunction

to the child

who fails to learn

that the world

owes him nada,

not a smile,

not a handshake,

not a red cent

or 

a wooden nickel.

Painstakingly,

the child

watches the

cheery wind

exhale a

black cloud of

disappointment

as he coaxes a giggle

from a painting of a 

sharecropper's daughter 

from North Carolina.

The hues

reflect her

brown-eyed blues.

The crows are seen

squawking on ears of dried corn.

There are mason jars

filled with

blackberry preserves

and honey

and

peaches

and

pickled relish

and

stewed tomatoes.

The sky's song

is just a half note

away from being in tune

and the 

daughter's handkerchief-covered head

belongs in the Smithsonian

Meanwhile,

the badly-traveled

dessert-dwellers

survive off of

flatbreads and are

destined to

wander the galaxy

in their

Birkenstock sandals,

their khaki caftans,

their skull caps and

slouch hats,

sombreros and

sunbonnets, 

attempting to charm

the majority 

of society

into accepting,

tolerating,

allowing 

their otherness,

their resilience,

their enterprises

allow them to

assimilate,

effortlessly,

without the threat of a police action

or

a

peace-keeping mission

or

an

un-armed

occupation

to

thwart their

ambitions.