Hot Seat

by Lightning Rod

Posted to Action Poetry on 2003-02-23 15:35:00

Parent message is 388712
The Hot Seat

Everybody gets to sit
In the Hot Seat.
Stand in the corner
Wear the dunce hat.
It’s the pressure of the
Peer pendulum
Rotates like the seasons
When I can’t tell thought from concept
The moons glacial phases
The moth that lives for seven days
Catapulted into the atmosphere
With no thermal tiles naked
To the friction of circumstance.

What Swings
Swings Back
Like the phases and the seasons
Of the moon, of the moods
Swinging past equinox, past solstice
Without solice or balance—just motion
Repeated and waiting for the return.

Extremes relax into stasis
As Solstice relaxes into Equinox
Applause swings to boos and cat-calls
But relaxes to swelled indifference
What swings
What circles
What eventually becomes tranquil
(Which is not the same as bored.)
Motionless
In the Hot Seat.

The weed-wacker logic of community
Lop off the longer blades
Provides a nice uniform carpet
And the shorter blades don’t feel bad.

Once the cat walks on the stove
Kitty is shy of the Hot Seat
Ducks the weed-wacker
Pretends to sit low
In the Hot Seat