I like my old folks anxious more’n wild.
In 1945 full half of you
were bled out rotting in the fields or ‘neath
our rubbled village, town, city too.

I like my old men worried, remembering the fall;
I like my old ladies broad, not silly tall;
I like my young ones wary watching taunts,
puffed fervors, thoughtless plots, vision in the gloat.

I need my people looking for the pit
where we’d toss our calm, our steady gentle hands
till blood and mud were one and t’was no stopping it.

The pouty vote and protest strut with arms
like chicken wings can’t save our souls or bind
what shake and rattle fold all wildly out.

The center must hold!
The center must deepen and widen;
the center must deliver.
The center must answer the call–
to form a juster course
for us people, our thoughts, purposes and passions.

Peace seems unavoidable
when its always there–
salty warm, freshly sweet–
and spiced betimes with gadgets great,
shows hilarious, pundits us all-knowing.

Great whale must swim a fathom deep,
must round the cold dark world;
thick cordy lips, a hide blue rubber steel.
Great whale humps through the secret sea,
alone quiet empty kind of free.

AMW/BW