2020 / POETRY / AUTHOR
JOHN GREY
THE QUESTION OF MY SURVIVAL
…
The cube is no wilderness
and the computer screen
can conjure up the image
of a Minnesota forest at dawn
but doesn’t know it from
a sale at Walmart,
so it’s up to me to remember
deer nibbling, fox trotting,
bobcat slinking silently
between the grass and light.
This office is the engine
so they tell me, though
I prefer the brain with its heart
somewhere devouring the
dank water fruits with moose,
or crawling from a groundhog’s hole
or high in an old oak
jack-hammering woodpecker holes.
A guy thinks he’s making a living
but the real living is elsewhere.
I see a black bear, head bent,
sipping at the stream,
follow a wolverine track,
watch fishers cavort in splashy shallows.
One paycheck comes.
It’s never enough.
Another soars with the hawk,
romps with the swallows.
I lie on my back
on the soft, giving, earth... pay-dirt