Gabrielle Giffords: In Which The News Cycle Takes Its Toll

Once we might not have known for days or weeks,
Once it might at least have been hours -- when
That was the case, we rarely heard such shreiks
Of ire at garbled facts. There might have been
Just one guy with a gun, or many; we
Don't know yet, but so many think we do.
How many wounded? Dead? When will there be
A true accounting of how, why and who
Must bear the blame? The narrative's compressed:
Schroedinger's Congresswoman's story shows
How truly things have changed; we're still distressed
From purest shock, yet many think they know
The truth already. Finger-pointing, blame --
Yet who among us knew, ere now, her name?

In Which I Rue A Wasted Day

I got a bit of a late start, it's true
But that explains not how it's five o'clock
And I'm on just my first shot of black brew
And only now have op'ed my mouth to talk.
When one lives by oneself this is a risk:
Entire afternoons can disappear
Quite wordlessly if outside there's a brisk
And bitter wind to keep her indoors. Here,
The sun has gone to bed and I've not done
A thing I planned to do save laundry. Now
On overtime I sit at work. No fun!
While projects languish back at home, and how!
A sin it is to waste my time that way,
I've even missed the blue and red and grey.

In Which The Construction Gods Smile On Me At Last

Returned from Saratoga, lo, I find

That Dell Range Avenue is nearly back

To normal, on my eastern end. My mind

much eased by this, I failed to note that smack

Amidst us all, new traffic lights now hang

At Marble Avenue! So that is what

The mess was for? Illus'ry safety bang

In my own subdivision? That's great, but

I still won't fall for it, not on my bike.

Or in my car, or walking. Red or green,

They're still just symbols. Sure we all would like

To think they are preventive, but the scene

Just down the street at Converse surely proves

That head-in-ass is still how traffic moves.