Sentenced

Sentenced

Death is an awkward thing
Coming as it does
At the end of the sentence of life

And it's actual occurrence
A question mark!
Or an exclamation?

Perhaps a semi-colon
As life goes on
After death

Or maybe just a
Simple period
The end

And we who are left behind
Living the sentence of life
Glory in the story that was told

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Copyright E. Bond Francisco 9/18/08

Reading

I read poetry today,
On the steps of Sproul Hall
Amplified, echoing
The day was bright and hot in the sun
Cool in the shade
So I wished I hadn't chosen to sit there
On the plaza
Where the tear gas used to burn
And Mario Savio fought for free speech
I read a poem about "dying in",
A protest to the nuclear arms race of the 50s and 60s
And a poem about getting a call to a wrong number
And ending up right where I was
I turned up my hearing aids as loud as I could
Heard the ambient crowd pulsing
Across the steps
And the poets voice floating high above it all
And at one point I remembered the jar of jam
I left at Andre's house

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Copyright E. Bond Francisco 2008

Ransom Note

If I thought it would do any good
I’d write a letter to myself
Actually, more like a ransom note,
Suggesting a meeting
At the phone booth on the corner
Of Telegraph and Haste
I would leave evidence of my soul
In a plain brown wrapper
With a clue as to where
To find the real me
No witnesses
I must insist
That I come alone
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Copyright 2008 by E. Bond Francisco