Made In America

My stressed business demeanor surrounded
by the towering white cumulonimbus of Arizona monsoon
reflects in the polished fender of a Japanese import,
the paradox of an image much more,
yet much less than what I really am.

With red-rimmed watery eyes bleary
from long hours, I stare at the portrait,
sensing what is conscealed
behind the clouds' soft facades -
flash flood water, wind and lightning.

A quick focus to my distorted face hopes to find
beneath the clean-shave and tie
a poet's wild abandon.

Above all, I see the image of a father
lacking courage to risk finding shelter and sustenance
for his wife and four children
in verse, prose, and editors' opinions
of what the public will buy.

This is no Detroit image,
but it is an American portrait.