Late in the Day

The clouds have come in. Typical. Metaphor.
Archetypes of various sorts, signs of loss
Of all but outward form of this senescent
Creature, America, pass in waves across
My screen. Here is a man who would sell
Me insurance. He smiles. He's white. He
Wears a suit. A serious woman quietly
Says I should talk to my doctor. I may
Be ill. Black people rampage, and then
Are killed, and removed, to make room
For a man and woman, who sit at a
Desk and tell tales about puppies. No
Other news. Barely a pulse. The creature
Looks up from its hospital bed, having
Learned it is ill, but also insured, and
Sees gathering clouds overhead.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 13 times
Written on 2011-06-18 at 14:05

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