Pause For Poetry:
Michael Hawkes /66

By the Wayside

A poem by Michael Hawkes

We will have to relinquish our grip on the lever,
Dear mother is sick and running a fever,
Her innards are churning, her temples are burning
We must stop here and now and hope she revives.

But she needs our attention with heartfelt intentions
If she is to live and we to survive.

She needs more than a band-aid or bandage and plaster,
She needs to be nursed, her health’s a disaster;
And it’s we her flower children who made her so ill,
And while watching her suffer we’re wounding her still…

Our good intentions come to naught.
Absolutely nothing at all.

She staggers and stumbles, whole systems fail,
Oceans run up rivers, mountain tops fall.

Inordinate efforts… to no avail.

Drink up my hearties. This is the “Last Call”.

9/1/24 – Hawkes

Feature image: IslandHopper, Pexels

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