Flu Dot Gov

Hmmm . . . my head nodding, "Yes I agree." I say—"must have the
State and locals. . . ." She wonks policy to the
Other one leaning toward her, and I cannot look at either, both
    earnest
In their worlds and for good reason, for people will surely
Die, one has already even this week. I am
Myself near expiration, floating as I am above the conversation
In the courtyard of the plaza, and wondering how long we
Will be apart in the service of the country, remembering when you
Slipped in beside me and I awoke just enough, and
Then fell back to sleep. . . . "Let’s tier the calls with the White
House" and death draws closer. This ploy of
Quietude as Wisdom with well-placed, timely agreeable words
Inserted in the conversation with a thread of comprehension, but
Delivered with just enough conviction, a dilettante in full
Bloom, to get me by—or so I believe, or do not believe. Put your
    palm
On my cheek and understand me with your eyes, as you do when I
Cannot speak of this. I will call you tomorrow.

09-09

—David L. Myers lives in Arlington, Virginia. In May 2009, President Obama appointed him director of the Center for Faith Based and Community Initiatives at the U.S. Department of Homeland Security. His home and his fiance are in Evanston, Illinois. 

After Happy Hour in Our Nation’s Capitol

Leave the bar. Walk toward the car. Lean against the unlit
Pole in the late Friday afternoon with
Nowhere to go. Still, stand there. Wait for the
Evening rush to thin. Let the intersection
Move. Stop. Remove yourself. A woman walks a dog. A
Car turns full circle. A pigeon flies above a roof line. A
Man combs his pony tail. A mother takes her children’s
Hands. A beggar calls for change. You are
Six hundred miles west. The corner store
Closes. Is the traffic still jammed? A convertible passes.
My meter is running out. There’s a bench in the
Park. Walk to it. No. Wait a little longer. A woman walks a
Puppy. A pigeon flies between the buildings. A
Man with a pony tail yells at his son.
An old man shuffles across the street. You pass in
Front of me a a day’s travel away. I feel
My keys against my leg. There is a vibration against my
Waist. All stops as I move toward my car.

—David L. Myers

Mirror

I wonder what Linda Ronstadt looks like these days. I haven’t
Seen a picture of her in years. I did see a picture of Yusuf, the
Artist known as Cat Stevens, on a Starbucks Pick of the Week
Card. He’s aged, less the Yusuf more the old man looking
Out a window wondering what happened the last thirty years.
Or so it seems, with his gray beard and Caesar haircut of also
Graying hair. Welcome home is the name of his new album. I
Haven’t listened to it and maybe it’s better that way. Welcome
Home should mean exactly what it says, so I’ll just pretend it
Doesn’t mean anything more than his longing look, in the same
Way I look out my Kansas City hotel room, making your
Voice say welcome home, welcome home. Linda, what do you
Look like these days? You were so so fine and you went
Away for awhile and came back singing standards and Mexican
Songs. Has your hair grayed? Have you rounded? Do your eyes
Still say I love you? Is your voice still the deep and comforting
Murmur of a mourning dove? Do you look out the window too?

08-09

—David L. Myers