Morgan Michaels Poems

all your whining, dear,
all your whining, dear, can not,
can not make a kite.
...

How like a game of musical chairs
these fee-for-service systems
where profit is the goal, not service,
and people do not ask
...

First, two roosters vying in the dark
cracked the fragile stillness of the night
then the sparrows deafening demot
spread the rift until a golden light
...

Commonly, in Harlem, a screen door opening implies
the buzzy, busy entry of one of those enormous flies.

Why are these bugs so keen to trade an outside that seems nice enough
(and chockablock full of crud unclean)
for an inside, full of pesticide and stuff?
...

'There, ' she said, clearing her throat,
shaking the hair from her face
and taking a sip of Aether-Aid:
'Now you have it. Your own sweet dream.
...

One sun becomes them all,
one heaven above.
Feet have all in common soil
different though they be
...

A small dark plane is parked outside the complex.
A span of wings hangs over the glistening snow.
On the fuselage Fox News or CNN or something.
Crewmen mill about arm-flapping against the cold.
...