Monday, October 6, 2008

Yes we can

Hold babies and report that America is a nation where abe was offered chairs for the train ride home, the man was so popular. Abolition was like fever, fried oysters were heavenly? And Abe, what to make of the lock of your hair in the collection? And Abe, what to make of the theatre actress who stole the bloody flag, and Abe, what to make of our man OBAMA who made me cry with the photographs of his American experience, complete with the residency in Hawaii and Indonesia. I want so much for us to embrace him like we embraced you, Abe, but without assassinations, Abe, and this discussion is nearly a party joke these days, Abe. Look at the VPs--that's who will be running the nation. Who do you vote for, Abe? Are you WIDE AWAKE? Will my great-granddaughter visit a historical collection that houses Barack's basketball and please let it be the basketball he used after his successful presidency, Abe, please let this be a nation that can support a candidate who doesn't talk down to me. And please let it be a president who chooses, in fact, to NOT invade Afganistan.Please let it be a president who can hold babies joyously and who can navigate us out of the waters of oil and into the waters of trolley traffic. That is my dream, Abe. Can you let me in on yours?

Sunday, October 5, 2008



The sky, with its pimped up lights, is zoned

for serendipitous crossings with moon.

Please—zone it in a little closer.

Please stranger—I’m pretending not to like you.

Like you know the difference between a good duct-cleaning

and a bad bottle of wine—

like you’re trying to house a horse

in an RS-12 zone—

in a perfect storm of limiting factors.

Mixed-use urban renewal is out by the pond

killing flies instead of fishing. My neighbor’s purple C-cup,

dangling above the dirt, is zoned in a historic overlay district,

custody of the Historic Preservation Review Board.

Please—let me cry and learn to self-zone.

Bring in the BB gun—and later the welts.