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We are beyond a hierarchy of opinion.
I used to pay attention to the Triple-A
Or the paper’s restaurant critic,
But now everyone reviews everything,
One person’s judgment no better than another’s.
And not just books and music:
Dentists, vacuum cleaners, family therapists,
Plumbers and professors:
The receptionist was rude to me.
So if we can leave condolences online,
How long until we assess
The life of the departed,
With one to five stars,
Tiny box for comments,
Saving St. Peter the trouble:
This review was helpful to no one.


RETURNING FROM NEW ENGLAND

September,
Back in the South:
Crape myrtle in bloom,
Tobacco, yellow-green,
Not ready for consumption,
Bible tracts
In gas station
Rest rooms.


PINE STRAW

Raking pine straw off the cottage roof
After a mild winter:
I scrape away the dry needles on top
To find a dark dampness
Settled in the seam
Where the roof line shifts
Over our new addition,
And I see thin blades of something green
Growing there, in a bedding
Sealed by asphalt shingles,
An amazing, tenuous life.
But then I think of other organisms,
Army kids, migrant workers,
Who make do with what roots they have,
Eight schools in eight years,
As once IBM families, Methodist clergy,
Awaiting always the prongs
Of an intruder’s rake.


RESALE VALUE

Did we do wrong
To buy a Tandy computer
Or a Beta-format VCR?
They seemed to work well
At the time,
But, seldom talked of since,
Left hints of poor judgment,
The sorrow of Linda Loman’s
Off-brand fridge.
And, unlike the Edsel,
No collectible market,
Not the sort of thing you bring
To the Antiques Roadshow,
Where the people who’ve been taken
Always began
By thinking they had taken
Someone else.