Fognet by Sy Roth
Two worlds apart
Fognets drawn creed-ready
Grab the morning dew.
The sun here rises in the east
Begins the slow toast of the patio.
I rose early to catch the dawn
And raise my coffee as homage.
Always the left hand
.The cup rests solely in my left hand
The mind bides its time
Waits lazily to order the hand to bring it to my lips.
It’s a steaming cup of instant Maxwell House
That generally tastes like crap
But the steam waters the inside of my nostrils
So, I don’t mind.
I drew the water from my faucet
A ready supply of water
Requiring no thought
No expenditure of energy;
Ran the water from the tap,
Running it till the water steamed.
Now the sun sears my eyes
And I chance upon a huge spider
There on my right.
The sun caught the luminescent web it built last night
Still brimful of the dewy collection
Of last night’s mist.
It must have worked hard to spin that web
Worked to capture its food and a well-full of water.
The spider wanders to the globules
It has collected in its fognet,
Slakes its thirst
While I suck Maxwell House from my Teachers Do It Better Cup.
A second sun comes up from the east
While the spider and I are now unthirsty
Not cognizant of the unslaked masses
Who live on the edge of the Ataca Desert.
Unseen rainfall and morning dew
Dries In the desert that eats the landscape
And the people can only dream of agua in pipettes
To quench what the body craves,
A fognet of spider-like behavior
Lurks on the edge of the Peruvian plain
Where the fog teases on little feet
And was quickly burned off by the miserly morning sun–
No Maxwell House dreams.
The desert proclaims a need to grab it away
Ephemeral beings, unclotted hydrogen and oxygen.
The desert proclaims:
Create a Frankenstein monster
Give it being.
Teach them how.
Teachers Do It Better,
Like the spider who quaffs a draft each morning
Before the sun bakes off the dewdrops
And I suck on the Maxwell House brew
Without thought of the paucity of water–
Teach them where the earth is miserly
Where its axis has twisted awry to deny it
How to grab the fog
Hold it in its web
Then drink without pause and bring
The Ataca to life.
©2020 Sy Roth
Sy Roth is a retired school administrator and has finally found the sounds of silence and the time to think whole thoughts. This has led him to find words and the ability to shape them. He has published in Visceral Uterus, Amulet, BlogNostics, Every Day Poets, Barefoot Review, Haggard and Halloo, Misfits Miscellany, Mad Swirl, Larks Fiction Magazine, Danse Macabre, Bitchin’ Kitch, Bong is Bard, Humber Pie, Poetry Super Highway, Penwood Review, Masque Publications, Foliate Oak, Miller’s Pond Poetry and The Eloquent Atheist.