And so I left those troubles

like a gray bitter snowstorm,

spinning but then

digging and gaining traction,

passing slowly through the drifts and pelting

(headlights full of the past),

driving knowing if I drove far enough

there’d be an end to it,

the white line again,


and a first inkling of why

Christmas Canticle

Trucks will head home for the

holidays, and wreaths will have

arrived to adorn doors

and spin like the sun at Fatima.

For those who would pass through

the hoop and the door, the tree awaits,

hoisting its star, a princely, tinsely

medal for the savior.

A member of parliament proposed

A member of parliament proposed

that when we’re ready, when we’re ripe,

we might have another do us in.

All we’ll need is a




death wish.”

Serving us will be the

“end-of-life facilitator,”

a fully-equipped and professionally-trained

practitioner of the art of the new humane.

We’ll have to be 75, of course,

and there’ll be meetings involved –

bureaucracy will have its day –

but wish we may and dream we might:

the government will give us night!