For Thomas D (and me).

Junk Food for the Soul

I'm listening to videos of Arab rock.
Thomas is down at the synagogue,
Chanting. Neither of us finds much
Worth in our world: the sprawl,
The houses, cut like cookies, strip malls
Populated by the hawkers one
Encounters in such dismal strips placed
Everywhere, and, anyway, where
Are we now, in Wellesley or in
Naperville, or Bellevue, or Santa Ana?
Who can say? Why would one care?
We're all the extras in some firm's
Commercial selling underwear.
We're all among the leering losers
Cheering on a fascist conman.
Life's too short, somebody said.
It seems too long to Thomas and me.
There's not any fiber in it. Millions
Idolize the conman. Settled onto
Couches, they turn off their minds
To watch TV, as Thomas and I
Search for substance. He's reciting
A kaddish. I smile. A woman

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 126 times
Written on 2019-10-12 at 01:20

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Thomas D The PoetBay support member heart!
Larry, I'm just reading this now. I'm so thankful that you've included me in your poem! Salut et merci!