Don Kingfisher Campbell

I Dream

I'm peeking out at the sliver of light

Visible because the crimson blanket

Draped over the standard rectangle

On the side of our backroom bedroom

Tries to cover a narrow concrete alleyway

Where the sound of a passing animal

Skittering across the makeshift fence

Of stacked green plastic panels which lie

Onto chain link usually standing firm to

The miniscule weight of a squirrel or cat

But on this still overcast Friday morning

I see in the long finger of brightness

A horrific sight a cylindrical object 

Rumbles by in the low hazy gray sky

As if being towed by armored tank

I hear a shattering explosion not far

Away how can this be I am in America 

I shrink back pulling my blanket closer

And listen for another heavy blast on

What should be an air of Pacific cool 

I believe I'm in a war zone unsettled

The click of the clock radio wakes me

To caffeine fueled banter of two hosts

I am relieved it was only a chimera yet

Disturbed that somewhere in the world

This is someone's reality every day

Two-Dimensional Ghost Octopus

Two circular eyes on top of its head

Look across the air of midnight

Big red mouth agape at its tendrils

Which act like ethereal arms and legs

Feeling for a concrete substance

In a painted square universe

Trapped for several weeks or months

Until somebody paints it over

And it will be gone forever unless

An artist returns and reincarnates

I got the slightest taste of Gaza

When the roofers came

Walked on my roof

Tore off the old shingles

Hammered in new plywood boards

The next day they returned

Laid down insulation

And proceeded to plug in

The portable air pressure gun

Shot rows of nails into each tile

The noise was like a barrage

Of bullets being fired with

The occasional heavy clunk

Placing more ammo above

I felt assaulted and ran

Outside to escape the war

In my Cube parked at the curb

Unlike the people trapped 

In an unrecognized country

Without permission to leave

Denied food and supplies

For uncountable months