Iguazu

We leaned against the railing meant to
Keep us from the precipice, a pair
Of dopey tourists, just the sort
The wire services would tersely mention
In the morning had fucked up, and
Fallen. Measures varied. Was it three,
Or four, or fifty thousand, feet into
The rushing waters of the filthy river?
Doubtless, no one cared. The locals
Spat, “Americans. The less there are,
The better off we'll be (though our sort
Pays their bills).” The embassy's potato
Creatures dare say nothing more than
That the airport told them we were there.
One of their flunkies will collect our
Bodies from the canyon's floor, and we
Will be sent home to relatives who really
Want to grieve, but won't. We wasted
So much money that they might have used
To fix their floors, to straighten Missy's
Teeth. We'll burn. That is the cheapest
Choice, and the one who gets the shortest
Straw will take us home in urns, and put
Us in their overstuffed garage. We will
Have reached our end. The rail which
Had extinguished us will be repaired.
The tourists will keep coming, and
Keep being cursed. Our urns will
Gather dust. The wire services will
Seek sensations. Nothing will have
Changed. Even the dead know nothing
Ever does. Poor Missy's teeth will go
Unfixed, and all the world will have
Learned that barriers sometimes will
Fail, and, when they do, you'll fall.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 112 times
Written on 2019-07-06 at 03:37

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