by Charles P. Ries

I’m tired of being a good Buddhist.

I’d like a few of my old attachments

back. Wrap a tasty wad of anger

around my fist and pound it home.

Just one compassion-free day.

A day without detachment,

discernment, impermanence

and right action. I’d let my ex-wife

know that someone is alive in

here and “Hell if I care you’re

a young soul with a tortured past!”

Compassion in the hands of a novice

is like wearing a sign on your forehead

“Please beat the shit out of me.”

So, come to think of it, I guess I do

have a few attachments dangling

from my purified psyche. Maybe

I ought to kick his holiness in the God

Damn Ass for putting me in this prison

beneath the Bodhhi Tree.

***

Charles P. Ries lives in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. He has received four Pushcart Prize nominations for his writing. He is the author of THE FATHERS WE FIND, a novel based on memory and five books of poetry. He is the poetry editor for Word Riot (www.wordriot.org). He is on the board of the Woodland Pattern Bookstore (www.woodlandpattern.org) and a member of the Wisconsin Poet Laureate Commission. You may find additional samples of his work by going to: http://www.literati.net/Ries/