Pat's Poetry and Pictures.
The Rebel

I am the yellow-faced flower that dots the lawns of prominent businesses, suburban homes, 
faulted parking lots and back alleys.

I am the Dandelion!

You try to rid yourself of me: 
you beat me, gas me, burn me.
You study my genetic code 
and try to wipe me out, 
but like my friends 
the cockroach and the louse
I am eternal!

You try to domesticate me, 
but my seeds parachute to safety.
You patronize me as your state flower, 
but I leave your hands sticky 
and smelly. 
You sever my roots and I multiply!

Can't you gaze at the clusters 
of my kinfolk 
and talk poetically about our blossoms 
being a reflection of the sun?
It's better for your society 
to make amends for what it's done!

I will persist!

I am a Rebel.

I am a Dandelion!

Who could call this home?
Who would take this weedy corner, 
plagued with briars and deadly nightshade?
Who would want to live between abandon buildings,  where jagged sidewalks lie speckled with lead paint?

Who would risk their life to defend a home 
among the ruins of an old laundry
where women and children 
once sweat their lives away for pennies--
A home surrounded by broken glass and garbage
Who would call this a home?

Yet some small bird threatens me 
from among the weeds. 
She curses me for treading on her territory.
Mouse and Cat

Here I am
Mousy me
Tiny delicate ears
Beady brown eyes
Long skinny tail
Fragile frame

But I'm sitting
in the middle of the kitchen floor.
I know you can see me, cat
and I know you're surprised.

I usually turn and run, 
but not today, cat
See my tail wag?

I'll wag it again
My feet, I pitter-patter on the floor
your ears catch the sound
your nose catches the scent,
but you won't catch me!

I'm ready for a fight, cat
'cause at last I see
my very existance proves
your lack of superiority.

Nature endowed me with gifts as fine
so prey, cat
'cause I'm going to give you
a rough time!

She Died Today

So, she passed away today,
while I was out, looking for a job.
Through the thin walls of our apartments,
I had been listening to her crying 
all winter.
She had been calling cabs and ambulances
when she was ill.
She had been screaming
to her only friend
about welfare
about clinics
about the sick economy.

The landlord said 
he was worried about her.
He was worried---about his money.
Looking back, I remember,
though we were not friends,
I had given her a Chrismas present.
And she had given me
a shocking view
of her empty, diminished life.

As a woman, she had died
in her girlhood.
Now, she's really dead.