JEFFREY ZABLE

THE UNDERSTANDING

When I came out of the washing machine—
and then the drier—I was the cleanest me
that I’ve ever been, but when I expressed this
to my so-called friends each would respond
with something like, “Sure. . . whatever you say!”
which made me realize that no one really cared
and was there as a support.

And so I cut ties with everyone except for my faithful dog,
who always treated me with love, respect, and admiration,
licking my face and hands as if it never really mattered
whether I was clean or dirty. . .

THE SITUATION

It’s obvious that there aren’t enough places
at the table, which means that a great many
have to keep moving to survive.

Of course, many won’t survive, winding up
being kidnapped and eaten, while others
will just plain give up and work somewhere
for minimum wage, sleeping on a dirty floor,
or at the bottom of a ravine.

These others should never be compared with the rich,
who have prominent places at the table,
and most likely will stay there for the rest of their lives. . .

Jeffrey Zable is a teacher, conga drummer/percussionist
who plays Afro-Cuban folkloric music for dance classes and
rumbas around the San Francisco Bay Area and a writer of poetry,
flash-fiction, and non-fiction. He’s published five chapbooks
and his writing has appeared in hundreds of literary magazines
and anthologies, more recently in Ranger, New English Review,
A Sufferer’s Digest, The Raven’s Perch, and many others. . .