Protection

One sets an alarm.
Another leaves all the lights on.
A third just lets a blaring radio
convince a prospective burglar
that there’s somebody home.
The fourth would set a man-trap
if he could but, instead,
gives the freedom of his apartment
to his savage pit-bull.

All head out on a Saturday night,
hunker down in some temporary establishment,
their permanent abode left
in the charge of various dissuasions.

They thrive in various fun palaces
while their regular lives
are protected by technology,
Thomas Edison, heavy metal
and bloodlust.

In the early hours of the morning,
one keys in the alarm code.
Another turns out the lights.
A third switches off the radio.
And the fourth pats his dog,
rewards him with a treat.

To think,
a burglar caused all this
and he isn’t even out tonight.

Report from the New Melancholy

the noon melancholy
is overheated by too much sun,
depressed even further
by a slow mournful ballad
on a stereo
in the apartment below,
as eyes come to rest
on a basket of soiled clothing
and a sink full of dirty dishes,
and my phone pings
a new email,
the first of the day,
a spam come-on
from a woman
in see-through lingerie
who claims to be
as lonely as I am —

I look out the window,
watch the mailman drop letters
into the occupants’ boxes —

nothing for me
but something
for one or two
of my fellow strangers —

and that helps

John Grey is an Australian poet and US resident recently published in New World Writing, River And South and Tenth Muse. His latest books, Subject Matters, Between Two Fires, and Covert are available through Amazon. John is a regular contributor to Dodging the Rain and has work forthcoming from Paterson Literary Review, White Wall Review and Cantos.