JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

Hope gasps final
defeated by a medical report
crisp, impersonal, it gives
numbers of dead,
dying and maimed
while outside rain falls
on sidewalks
muddied, leading nowhere
infertile

 

Yet as time passes
flowers of spring
have risen from
tear moistened soil
and close by leaking sewage
a tomato plant has taken root
riots wild, untamed
cascades down hillside
green, red
clustered with fruit

 

All from one small seed escaped

 

Further on
two small boys, his sons
hands nimble with anticipation
catch tadpoles in tiny nets
collect them in jam jars
to wriggle in the sun