ISSUE: Autumn 1980
The tumor is thoroughly benign.
When I look in the mirror
I can see it
through my eyes.
And it will have to be removed
before
the headaches start.
Lava has covered their beanfields,
Where will the people of Mt. Etna
go?
The sea is dirty, the fish are dying;
for two hundred years
nothing but crystal will grow.
The leaves of the tree
flow like seaweed.
The cats play with a white speckled moth.
I wish summer would quietly
pass in the night.
I wish the invaders would come.
