Thursday, June 21, 2012

Blame the Sun: an Ode

Oh, Sun, you fickle star,
Not even star, but coin of gold-shine,
Now near, now far,
A season-maker as you climb the sky,
Or drop Dow-Jones-like
Into your depression.
What’s with you, Sun?
Van Gogh and you:
Who else likes to stare
So wildly at the world?
Give me an intensity break.
Soft, and pray you:
Meditate and find
The moderate path.
Not everyone has air conditioning,
Or heat when you’re
Philandering at night.
Where’s your mom
In all of this?
I mean, God –
Who do you think
You are?

John Sevcik