Friday poem

I'm posting an original poem every Friday for a year.

CEO

If I were in charge of this modest sunlight I’d

add a bit of orange and slant it slightly higher.

And I don't like those clouds, condensed and lowered;

I don't take kindly to storm threats.

Up they go.

This wind is fickle. Make up your mind, I would say, move this

air cool and steady.

I wouldn't stop there. I’d scoop El Niño up in my arms and quiet him.

He’s probably scared, up so high, near

the bully of the sky.

I’d teach that bully a thing or two.

And the tides have no rhythm.

They should roll like brushes on a snare drum,

pushing the beat enough for the birds to swing.

And that horizon will have to go.

When I’m finished I'll move on to that sliver of moon peeking over the hill.

Hey, I will say, is that the best you can do?