Now, These Hot Days, is the Mad Blood Stirring

Posted: October 4, 2010 in Burn Poetry
Tags: , , ,

We find ourselves shackled to expectations,
slaves at the auction block,
while those with power bid with a mild disinterest.
In storm cellars we lay;
in basements of ill-advised and systematic
disillusionment built brick by brick,
lie by lie,
and mortared with broken promises.
Midnight’s fury storms around us.
Violent gusts slam against the shutters with the
force of politician’s rhetoric
and science steps forward
offering a hand filled only with rubble and bone,
like the serpent that bore the apple,
showing us that as we create
we destroy;
a perverse, new-age
Midas touch.

We’re told to act.
To leap from our cellar, rush to darkness’ vile embrace
by the same Italian-suit-sporting
auctioneers that lit this fuse
then walked away with no thought of where
their fire
snakes towards or when combustion
will occur.

We’re told to learn.
Education for all
and all for education,
they say, petting their stacks of money
like a jade house cat.
As we hop on education’s treadmill
our wallets, minds,
hearts and legs
grow weary of self-worth being boiled down to a 2.6 out of 4.
We run past math teachers
making fractions of bankers’ money
and kindergarten teachers
learning how to read foreclosure notices.
Tears in eyes and paddles in murk
they steer our future,
worrying more about empty pantries
than directionless wandering;
they lack a lighthouse.

We stagger to continue our
sprint to finish line’s abyss.
With leaden shoes filled with leaden legs
we lurch into debt;
painfully aimless.

We’re told we’re second-rate.
That we will be
entombed in history’s graveyard,
crash-landing in an unmarked tomb
before we ever truly live.

Yet our doomed generation,
victims of a national postpartum
depression,
still has time.

The fuse may be lit
and ever-burning,
winding in fiery loop-the-loops
before our very eyes.
We may have been prescribed
failure in 2 pills a day for
the rest of our lives by
the quackery of past years
but
there’s still time.

Our doomed generation
need not be a suicide
charge up Brainwash Hill.
There’s still time to go AWOL
on AOL Time Warner and to
teach education more than a thing or
two million;
to wrestle the jeweled Rolex off the
wrist of those in charge
and slam it on the dirty sidewalks
that we’re predicted to sleep on.

There’s.
Still.
Time. . .

FIN

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Comments
  1. madhat says:

    disillusionment: A feeling that arises from the discovery that something is not what it was anticipated to be, especially when a belief central to one’s identity is shown to be false.
    –We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope. ~ MLK, Jr.
    –Disappointment to a noble soul is what cold water is to burning metal; it strengthens, tempers, intensifies, but never destroys it. ~

    I was hopeful when your poem ended with “still time”. You’ll come out on top (and be all the wiser for it.)

  2. Sue Tolles says:

    disillusionment??? or re-focus?

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