Generators drone
exhausting blue smoke
like stationary lawnmower engines—
can’t be without the life-breath of electrons,
now can we?
No.
We pull together, shelter those in need
fight the good fight, now and for the future
at the polls and in our homes
and rail against the P the G and E,
the lavish lives of management and board
and all the others held to blame.
But this outage outrage is on us all.
Whatever needed to be done was not:
Paradise is lost—
and so now may we all be
as flames race the wind and blacken the vine
we reap red cinders in the storm
and warm salt water
soon will lap our lawns.
But save the frozen chicken, save the milk!
(The booze we drink at any temperature.)
Save the electrons in the batteries
so we can turn them into photons
in our lanterns and devices;
save the date
(the coming of the deadly winds is on
my weather app);
save the trees, the roots, the stock, the seeds;
save the planet and the plant
where my mother used to work;
save the workplace
the occupations and the meanings
of our lives: SAVE THE ARTS.
Save the country, as Laura Nyro sang,
save our children’s children’s children’s future
save the waters of the salmon, and the eel, and smelt,
save yourself and everyone you love,
but don’t save the money—
spend it all to save the rest.
I am sure we all do what we can.
To save anything, first we must survive.
We are all heroes in our own struggle.
We save our memories and use them
to fuel the fires of our best intentions
for who will save us now from blistered skin
if not ourselves?
But some do more than others.
Support them. Cherish them.
Honor them in life and death.
See them
on the front lines with their hoses,
dozers on the smoking slope—
the many so-called volunteers from prison,
dollar an hour, two for the day
not really choice, just more modern slavery—
the trauma teams, the cops, the EMT’s
dispatchers, techs, and line crews
the press who make the people’s interest theirs
the victim/heroes helping as they bleed
the endless twenty-four-hour shifts
no start of day, no end of night
for us
and know them for the saviors that they are.
Their bodies
through fatigue and pain
are focused on their jobs
their hearts
on mothers, fathers, lovers, friends
and strangers
for whom they may at any moment
give their lives.
In the midst of fire, water, ashes, blood and tears
their lonely despair cannot be acknowledged
or they — and we — are lost.
The definition of brave.
So, what to do
when in the morning light of day returns?
Fire up my five-horse Briggs and Stratton
don my ear protection,
and mow
a lawn
too moist, too lush, too thick, too green
to burn.
