Wednesday, October 1, 2008


A Supermarket In George W. Bush's America

What thoughts I have of you tonight, George W. Bush, for
I walked down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache no-health insurance looking at the full moon.
In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for discount foods, I went
into the neon pesticide fruit supermarket, dreaming of your failed economic plan!
What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families
shopping with food stamps! Aisles full of China made dog food! Led in the avocados, plastic in the babies milk!--and you, Dick Chaney, what were you doing down by the watermelons?

I saw you, George W. Bush, shameless,old grubber,poking among the meats in the refrigerator and eying the beer aisle.
I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the
pork chop soldiers? What price bananas? Are you my ally?
I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of cans
following you, and followed by the store's racial profiler.

We can never walk down the open corridors together, your administration tasting artichokes, possessing every frozen delicacy, and never passing the

Where are we going, George W. Bush? The doors close in a hour.
Which way do your bombs point tonight?
(I try to touch the constitution and dream of our Country in Peace and
feel absurd.)
Will we fight all night through Iraqi streets? The rising smoke add shade
to shade, lights out in the houses, I'll be charged.
I'll stroll dreaming of the lost America of love past blue automo-
biles in homeowner driveways, home to a silent life?
Ah, dear father, Al Gore, lonely old, courage-teacher, what America
did you have when Florida quit polling her voters and you got out on a smoking bank and stood watching the White House disappear on the black waters of

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