The Next Morning

by Joanne Kyger

The next morning the Buddha puts on
his new robe and walks into town

No one notices him
but he notices all
around him

C’s new poems
make me too anxious to read them
all the way through
Feel like being a sucker all over again?

Why not, if you like to suffer . . .
Which I hate so much . . .  hate suffering so much

that I suffer.  And it isn’t the little children
coming unto me, either.  It’s more like

idolatry of fucked up emotions.
The lovely little screwed up pieces of ‘peace’
from the factions of religious ‘entitlement’.

Look, here’s another bomb to tear your heart out —
made right in your financial backyard.

Why are you so angry all the time?

— because it’s better to be quiet

a profile of dependency
on the shadow
of a new robe