and from the inside in

Demagogue
The lie spread from his lips and tongue
like a sweet syllable and it spread
from his fingertips like rays of light
and it spread from his legs and hips like music
and it spread from his skin like a pungent odor.
And then it spread from window to window,
like a piece of blue sky, and then it walked
over the river and then it strutted through town
clicking its taps on the pavement, and then
the wind carried the news of the lie
from clothesline to clothesline, from tent to tent.
It flew from the mouths of men and women
hunching over their work tables, flew
from the lips of cats stalking squirrels,
flew from the jaws of spiders,
from their sticky legs, flew from the nests of crows
over ragged rooftops. It flew at the sun, bursting
into bright fears, its bitter truth showering over us.
Jeff FrIEdman
HIS RIGHT PATH
I
No shortcuts: bushes bristle
above thin black hoses.
But branches dangle
rasping heads of sidewalk strollers.
Man’s meant for cars,
wombs rich with wheels.
II
Drive as if elbowing
through a crowded souk,
sidling from lane to lane,
bullying slow fools
with high-beam blinks
to make way, make way,
you’re off to another mall.
III
Money, yes, but prayer too:
speed for the space
closest to the hurrahing mosque,
dodge the underpaid illegal
racing on sandy feet.
Calling out five times each dazzling day,
Allah wants us all lined up for his right path.
J Tarwood
30