fixing the past

by Carl Watson

I went into the past armed with channel locks
And a screw driver, but it was different
Than what I remembered: Machines
Had a will of their own, even then.
But the past is not a machine,
I vainly insisted to disbelieving friends,
Nor is it a painting to be changed
With fresh colors and a pallet knife.

We are always fixing what’s said and done,
Screwing lag bolts in the floor joists
After the hurricane has flattened the house,
Hiding the evidence after conviction,
Cutting up the credit cards as debt collectors
Knock vainly at the door,
Vacuuming the ash from the living room carpet
While the kitchen is on fire.

The city has been destroyed by grief,
But we are bickering over the budget
That might upgrade the subway tracks
For the new wider train cars
That will soon arrive from Holland or China—
To carry even more passengers,
To job interviews for positions
That no longer exist.

They say the hair rises on your forearms,
Seconds before your brain creates the image
Of the bear in the trees.  That’s a good thing.
Yet the species is doomed anyway
By a tipping point long passed.
But we’re still weighting the balance,

Building speed bumps to slow down the DUI
After the child has died.

Placing guards at the school house gates
Two days after the latest slaughter.