Paranoid Archipelago 1
Our Children
the claustrophobic land,
paranoid archipelago,
the politics of hate swearing
on the radio and in the homes
the cable tv doom.
she'll forget the fathers day card;
her life is filled with living,
not anchored by black ink
to a pedestrian island
on expressway median.
he'll eat lunch within his car
parked in an asphalt ghost town,
and shukran a yogurt from
Mustafa's Grocery and Gas;
and then a restless nap.
they'll pay the debts we left
and live a modicum of joy
using the rosy glasses
and our inheritance
of acute myopia.
they'll have sweat anointed hair
that follows them from one solitary
to the next confine of their lives.
baptized in the river of cars
and stuck in rush.
I shall get starship Enterprise
and head her nose to Vega,
and all power to the engines!
swerving to break the chain of Time;
and change this Past!
(notes: another somber poem...
shukran: Arabic for "thanks".)
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