POEMS BY JOHN GREY: A Rush, Making Up, In Its Early Years

dogs chasing that car down
& children grabbing at birds as they fly by—
& even more chasing & trapping inside themselves—
what do they expect to have when they’re done?
a mouthful of wheel? a handful of feathers?
a faceless figure of authority
telling them maybe next time?
things rush by endlessly—
it's the calm they really fear