Shoes of all colours and sizes
Shuffle by my North American Middle Class House.
We are temperate, they walk in all seasons,
Down here, between the Great Lakes.
These S-Westerners look haggard;
Even the young...
All waiting... waiting for the veil to lift.
Smiles are cracking, making new lines
Like road maps to happiness.
And yet, it's worse
In Talibexas, Loseiana and Floridistan,
Where there are fewer paths.

Between the vaxxers
And the anti-vaxxers;
Between the dearly educated,
And the poorly educated;
The lines are blurred,
But clearly visible.

Shoes of all colours and sizes
Shuffle by my N-A Middle Class House.
We are temperate, they walk in all seasons,
Down here, between the Great Lakes.
These S-Westerners look haggard;
Even the young...
All waiting... waiting for the veil to lift.
Smiles are cracking, making new lines
Like road maps to happiness.
And yet, it's worse
In Talibexas, Loseiana and Floridistan,
Where there are fewer paths.

The glow of city lights
reflecting on the fountain waters
it lighting up the grey brick floor.
Renon is sleeping.

After the anesthesia wore off,
it seems as if
the Drawarapla is starring at me.

Are we all
too entitled to be willing to “suffer” ?
we're clay molded, put in the work?

There’s a fine line
between submission and abuse.

We hurtle down the last few hundred feet
of steep lavender lined cobbled *****
shaded by majestic umbrella pines - around
a last hairpin turn and there they are:

The blue-white Pampelonne beaches, of St Tropez.
Their indecent beauty almost defeats words.

With the scents of lavender, pine and salt sea air, you can
get dizzy on the aromatics. It's a Mediterranean performance
or perhaps a preview of heaven.

Our daredevil, fifteen year old driver, (Sylvain)
gets an unappreciative look from my mom. My brother (Brice)
and sister (Annick) whoop as if practiced, as they leap
from the open-sided Mercedes shuttle. I calmly gather my things.

This tranquil and elegant beach cove is private for hotel
guests - no chic crowds here - just a few quiet guests and
valets dressed in beige. The Pampelonne beaches are *******
(**** if you like), Annick peels ******* just before she hits the waves.

Brice, ever the considerate brother says, “Come ON,
RELAX, you’ll just look like one of the BOYS.”
Which earns him the old, American, one-finger salute.

I missed vacations this year and the beaches - where hours
stretch, with blissful laziness, to the rhythm of nature.
Will we ever get back to some pre-pandemic "normal"?

This is the viral solstice and I am liberty’s gambler.
What would I give to taste the fresh air of freedom?

Anything.

Thaw-out that space-cold hope and puncture me – please.
God blesses the poets to write of such miracles.

Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                         Our Fearless Leaders / Have Got / The Shot

But as for us, well, we have not

I used to be excited on Fridays.
I used to have interesting plans.
My weekends were non-stop hectic,
my time was in high demand.

Now I live in repeated patterns,
I’m a servant to boring routines.
A fleshy teenage automaton,
waiting for science to intervene.

Oh, I'm readier than a girl-scout,
I’m more prepared than a marine,
I’ll be out the door like a cartoon coyote,
the second I’m shot with vaccine.