The Knock on the Door

benjamin weinberg
1 min readJul 1, 2020
Old Door — Gozo — photo by author

100 degrees in the land of ice and snow
Polar bear’s got nowhere to go
All that was perma, about to be lost

And the world keeps on burning
while gangster magicians play peek-a-boo
now you see it now you don’t.
They’re all betting they’ll be long gone while all the rest of us,
eyes glued to where the lady was, play the game;
Behind Door Number One.
Or was it Three?
Acting like probability is the same as uncertainty,
strutting the same tired, tried and true,
but secretly, like wrinkled widows, saying the rosary backwards in the dark.

But there’ll be no surprises,
and no where to hide,
when Mother Nature rocks ups,
hands on hips,
wild eyed and wrathful.
Standing on our doorstep
calling for the rent that’s so long overdue.



benjamin weinberg

Writer, walker, poet, educator. Commercial fisherman, builder, donut maker, organic grower. Boston, U. City, Maine, South Africa, Madrid.