Thank You, H2O
(or One Way to Look Up)
1985
by Reggie Morrisey
Leaning on a wall of tall grass,
two thousand pounds and me.
Awaiting a hail of yellow lights
and fifty dollar fee.
My car ran off the highway, and
I am feeling mighty skewed.
The left side sliding rightward.
Will my shocks take this abuse?
And what about the tall grass?
How long will each strand stand?
I will have to thank the ice
For its ironclad command.
I will have to thank that ice
for slowing my wintry drive.
If I had been going faster,
I might not be alive.
Foot Soldiers
1975
by Reggie Morrisey
Consider the plight of
galoshes and boots;
the havoc which
they create,
when,
after advancing
through snow and rain,
the hall camp is
their ignoble fate.
Like tired sentries,
they guard the door.
Halting friend or foe.
Each new arrival
adds to their ranks
as they mingle
toe to toe.
No medals await
the valiant soles
No salutes for
the green-rusted zippers.
Boots are cast aside
with a hostile glance.
Replaced by
high-ranking slippers.
The humans who occupy
much of their space
dream of
warm-weather substitutes;
Of sneakers, sandals,
bare-feet perhaps.
with no thanks
for fine chaps.
Poor galoshes and boots.
A Northeast Winter