Back to the Sun

Back to the sun with half a cup
of Americano to go fathers
looking for their children as they
head off to work out on the open
ocean the night still a little fuzzy
at the edges of morning questions
of remorse are usual why do we
do the things we do the old men
at the coffee shop snapping
their newspapers against the wind
asking why they the other guys
do the things they do and why
the punishment isn't longer more
difficult whatever happened
to an eye for a tooth or was it
no no there's no good answer for such
crimes so much hope dashed
against the walls an epic slaughter
nothing to replace what's been lost
on the horizon Botelho's water
jets into the air over the sunburned
fields flies keep busy around my ears
and over the hood of my black truck
where I'm hunched keeping my pen
moving in case I have to stop
and look up or make a decision
overhead a myna sits on the higher
of three taut cables looking hopefully
to the east and above that a plane
moves like a shining mote in the big
blue eye while everything here
on earth clings to the dark center
as if word is out that justice
will never be done which can be
taken more than one way and for one
eye there is no certainty it has truly
come to that all we can do
is hope for better reception up the road
and call again to see if the kids
are okay find out did they make it