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 Bodhi 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/
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