From the Wallow

I'm tired, Gerta. Let me have another drink.
I'll go to bed and dream of what I used to know.
We were enlightened. Now, we're not. We were
A fairly solvent couple. Now we wait to see if
Men with pistols and with paperwork will come
To chase us from our home. I'll write a poem.
Who will read? I'll right a wrong. Oh, will I,
Really? Look at what we used to be. Not more
Than forty years ago, a wave of indignation
Would have washed across Benighted States
If anyone had said that we would torture
People, even Arabs. Now, that's what we want
To see. A drone, a pimpled pilot in a darkened
Room, will kill someone who only spoke.
Is speech still free? Of course, it isn't. Better
Pay, the better to be heard, I've heard. A culture
That was something once is nothing now.
A famous fraud, a little late, described us as
A “shining city on a hill,” but look at us.
We're shabby. We are going broke. Too many
Armies, too much war, too many hands too
Greased, and every one is raised in righteous
Anger. Every other's undeserving. Gerta, I
Don't want fight. Let the city go to weeds,
And let its unenlightened mobs destroy
Each other. Let me drink. The day is done,
As is our culture. I must go to bed.




Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 33 times
Written on 2012-05-11 at 02:18

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