Divvy it Up

by Kumari de Silva

Why did some people get born where the angry tornadoes tear
up the scenery, or earthquakes yawn open the ground like a maw,
or Tsunami throttle, waves screaming while the sky recedes?
How do some people hold fast, hanging tough, as luck jumps, while others
just free fall, crash, then burn, without promise, without hope?

Good karma, blessings from the gentle Mother Earth or the Christ Father God?
Whenever I wing images of you: blue eyes brightly shining, a smile on your face,
more than I ever deja vued, this slight relationship of feather right relating values us.
Get real: nothing pushes me away, nothing cages you in, is there a tomorrow?
Luck is lark, no notes, just the pure now flutters in my heart.

Scoville Organoleptic Test

by Kumari de Silva

Road ragged vagabonds rely on cyber synopses
to discriminate between bland franchise inns.
Who can distinguish Austin from Phoenix when
Motel 6 hosts such predictable repetition?

I drive on the I-10 westward 920 more miles,
diverse terrain peppered with redundant idles.
Only fellows on the trail, kind enough to post
can throw up the unregulated info I crave:

alerts to Capsaicin laden pizza available next exit
singular to New Mexico, unique in spicy flavor.
The hotness of chilis dances excellently across
thick tomato sauce. It's heaven served burning.

Maybe Therapy

by Kumari de Silva

Playing with the Ouiji board
spelled trouble. Gave shape
gave voice to demons hitherto
unrealized. An incubus broke
across the threshold demanding
corporate benefits: vision plan
401k, stalking angrily out of
ether staining our imaginations.

“I’m not playing!” He threatened.
Ok, maybe therapy; could restore
common ground. We exchanged
our feelings. “Look,” he implored,
“Try to be reasonable. It starts
with an ‘f’ ends with a ‘k’ it’s
no guarantee for retirement, just
a new way to screw with people.”