Longing for the Death of MAGA

And two poems about possums...

Photo by my friend Jim Sayers

I’ve told you before that most of the time when I see someone, and they ask, “How are you doing, I often reply, “If you see me, I’m doing great!”

Most often, they laugh, and sometimes commiserate. It’s a good old person’s joke, especially when many of us in my age bracket know that in our heads we are still teenagers, despite all appearances otherwise.

But I’m really not doing great, and neither, probably, are you.

I’ve also told you before that one friend recently asked me if I was OK, and I replied that, “I fear I’m slowly sinking into madness…”

As the MAGA machine tears the world asunder, I long for its death.

And are you like me, when you can’t sleep at night, do you hear the cries of children on the wind?

From Iran? Gaza? America? Because of MAGA?

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One thing that I do every day, sometimes more than once, is post a Substack Note with a photo and a caption that says, “This is what my world looks like. What does your world look like?” I try to take an interesting photo, sometimes a humorous one, and see what the response is. It brings joy to my world, and I hope to others. What’s really fun about it is when people respond with their own photos. A simple thing, but when we get a glimpse of each other’s worlds, we are sending little gifts to each other. I have some regulars (I’m looking at you in particular, Denise O’Brien!).

Another regular is Jim Sayers. The other day, Jim responded with the photo of the possum above that was in his yard.

It reminded me that in simpler times, I used to write about a great many more things than politics, like possums. I remembered that I had written at least one poem/paragraph about a possum, but found two. For context, at this time, we were renting a house on a farm. Here is the first:

Possum

Down the grassy hill, with bearded old man winter storm clouds behind him, came a possum. Like a bowling ball rolling down a gutter, only slower, he wobbled down the rut of a hidden cow path. A bright white star splattered his gray back, as if God’s hand had tossed a genetic snowball.

Nearing the bottom of the hill and the brushy crick bank below, he paused for a moment, looking back over his shoulder, as if he had forgotten something, or perhaps in regret. Sighing, he turned, shoulders slumped, and continued his journey, paying me no mind as he passed, as I continued mine.

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Here is the second:

Footprints

The day after winter’s solstice
the earth grew optimistic,
and the temperature
rose to almost 50
degrees.

And I went walking
through the melting snow and
mud through the south pasture,
just for walking’s sake.

and I saw that I was not the
first to have the idea.

Deer footprints,
like hands cupped in prayer,
star-shaped raccoon,
maybe a possum too.

and on my knees I spotted
tiny feet, mouse-sized,
with the line of a tail,
dragging.

Looking back,
I saw my size 14’s
following,

late for the party.

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Both of these are from my book, Deep Midwest: Midwestern Explorations, published by Steve Semken’s Ice Cube Press. Check out Steve’s list. There is something for everyone on it. Read local. Steve has done more for Iowa writers than any other press. Steve also writes here. He’s always worth reading, not only for what he has to say, but also because he writes beautifully.

I long for the death of MAGA so I can write about possums again, and other wondrous things, regularly.

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Join roughly three dozen members of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative in Storm Lake on April 23 and 24 as we swap ideas by day and gather for music at night. On Thursday evening, the Weary Ramblers take the stage, followed the next night by a circle of our own writers and musicians at legendary Byron’s in Pomeroy.

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I’m a proud member of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative. Please check out our work here. I also publish Cedar Creek Nature Notes, about Violet the Dog and my adventures on our morning walks at Cedar Bluffs Natural Area in Mahaska County, Iowa.

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