Poems by Randall Potts

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Heat Wave

by Randall Potts

From Canary Summer 2013

Randall lives in the Northbrae district of Berkeley, California, which was occupied by the Huichin band of the Ohlone for tens of thousands of years. Their acorn-grinding pits still remain in the rhyolite rock formations at Indian Rock Park, about a block from his home.

Since each day’s heat is exemplary
Record books are useless diaries—
It’s just getting hotter.

Attic fan thumps the wall
Warped windows rattle—
They’re just getting louder.

Unusual questions arise.
Can a Year have no seasons?
Will tomorrow burn down?

Can we outrun the lengthening heat?




Living for Others

by Randall Potts

From Canary Fall 2013

As I came to life
The human swarm devoured—
Just a drone, I dissolved
Into the pulse of the hive.

I’m doing what I can
White days, alone—
To keep the barn cat eating
And the bent house leaning—
Trying not to think ahead
While the inconvenient plants are dying.




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