Blank Slate
12 Aug, 2011 - W.M. Rivera
I hate to see that evening Sun bite down
one ruler for another, one America
for the next, the race starts over, fresh
forgetfulness. Blank slate.
Firms fix to win
unless the grid browns down, turns black;
contender nations bud; the rush is on,
the riders high and winning’s all.
Overawed tots pop and thrive, sugar their thighs.
Hetty Greens titivate on Corporate War.
What fun! And never-failure banks fleece the sky
while teeny-show-me-yours repeat cock-sure clichés.
And they’re off! Pristine, the chargers gallop
bigger than grand – loser nags steered underground.
About the author
W.M. Rivera has a new book titled Buried in the Mind’s Backyard (Brickhouse Books -- also available at Itascabooks.com and Amazon.com). Born in New Orleans, he began publishing poetry in the 1950s. His early poetry appeared under the names William Rivera and William McLeod Rivera in The Nation, Prairie Schooner, the Kenyon Review and the New Laurel Review among other publications. Recent poems have appeared in the California Quarterly, Gargoyle, Ghazal, and Broome Review. A first book of his poetry was published in 1960 titled, The End of Legend’s String, illustrated by Mexican artist, José Luis Cuevas. His new book, Buried in the Mind’s Backyard, was published by Brickhouse Books in 2011, with a cover print by Miguel Condé, one of Spain’s prominent artists. Rivera’s professional activities in agricultural development have taken him to more than 30 countries in Africa, Asia, Europe and Latin America. Retired from the University of Maryland, he is putting together his next collection of poetry under the title The You that’s Left.
