Martin Willitts, Jr.: Greetings From Syracuse

All postcards say, I wish you were here; but I don’t.
You’d be bored here. There’s nothing to do,
and plenty of it. Boredom is habit forming. Besides,
you’ve known folks going where you can’t,
then bragging upon it—like they were something
and you ain’t. Come on. I know you’re thinking that.
Those people are not all that monumental. All cards
proclaim the same exact mumble-jumble, yada, yada.
Wish you were here, blah, blah, blah. As if you care.
You want to send them a finger in the mail,
but the post office lists fingers as hazardous material.
So, here’s a postcard that doesn’t wish you were here
where you can watch factories turn to rust. That
and a nickel still leaves you two cents too short.

Sidney Hall, Jr.: Something about the Wind

There's something about the wind coming off
the ocean, the waves washing the rocks

that makes a person who is quickly annoyed
by cigarette smoke and men
putting nails into roofs

forgetful and unconcerned.

If you are easily disturbed
you need to get an ocean.