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ON THE EIGHTEENTH ANNIVERSARY OF YOUR IMMINENT DESTRUCTION, by Michael Kinnaird.

the sky's a seamless angry gray,
punctuated occasionally
by ominous growls and threatening lights;
nothing falls on us but rain,
regardless of what we may deserve.

driving the old gift vehicle
around the deeper puddles,
compelled to find a faceless restaurant
for a meal i can neither
afford nor taste

holding up the newspaper,
waiting for the terrorists,
every day should be like today,
every day should be
no soul's day.


Michael Kinnaird's poems have appeared in Offcourse Issue #7 in Summer of 2000. He says: i am forty-two years old.  i grew up on a farm, went to a small college, received a B.A. in psychology, have spent the last twenty years working with disturbed children and writing.  Please write to me in care of OFFCOURSE.



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