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March 21, 2018

It’s here, but I don’t see it,

And why was I for sale back then?

I was never available, not for them,

Not for those with such means.


They took me and treated me like a slave,

Theirs. They never owned me.

I never followed their yellow line,

And I don’t reciprocate. You’re a horrid thing.


Snow. Bright white. Depression. Still,

Grey skies overhead, and I miss him, greatly.

He’s hyperactive’. Put him on drugs. Your idea,

Always your idea …. I’ve missed you greatly these past few days.


Gloves in one pocket. Hole in the other,

Cold: not cold enough. There’s no snow.

Snow all about, but not from the sky,

I long for it to fall, any minute ….


I don’t require your pity. I’m merely silent,

I choose not to speak, as a monk.

As a mink, tortured then gassed,

A humane death, as that of the Jew.


They inspect our rights: we have few,

It’s but a rite: we have the right.

He loses his place: she gladly accepts it,

He lost it with force. A simple force. Innocent.


One stop. We disembark. We wait,

We search. You no longer have the right.

It was an injustice. Indeed,

It was discriminatory. Indeed.


He was a fool. He acted the fool,

He played it. No relation. Same name.

Always, no relation, no resemblance,

She is provocative. She knows it.


I was absent’. Okay. I don’t care,

Finally, they care! She coughs.

She of provocation. They speak well,

Don’t call on me. I’ve nothing to add.


I don’t even know your children!

What do you want from me? They mock.

Ah yes, they mock; even those unknown,

And they take themselves for who? Another’s question.


And she coughs, twice in succession,

She of provocative nature. Why does she cough?

To ward off spirits, unkind or other,

We care not for these spirits, Arab in nature.


Ah yes. We play the race card, when necessary,

It works a treat. The train comes to a stop, roughly.

Here, they demand money. The bag that another bought,

Obscene, the imagery. We go further than the crossroad.


Hence, we ride the rails. We play the game,

A dropped objet d’art. She coughs.

Objet de désir. Provocative,

Etc. She hasn’t moved. She passed the border.


The border town: I’ll be there soon,

She coughs. The allergens all around.

A fat man. Inept and incompetent,

Stupid. Taking up the space of the world.


And yet he knows the rules of etiquette,

He knows them well. And I retaliate.

I am not meek when faced by etiquette,

The fat man. The woman closes the door.


Unnecessary! There is no one. Foot steps

Of she, the useless, good for nothing.

She makes coffee, cleans the toilet:

Nobody tasks. She answers the phone.


The fat man: everything is out of order,

She looks over professional documents.

One fell to the floor. She stooped,

Privilege goes to the children, always.


A new audience: children always have an audience,

I lost a line in conversing with the fat man

Who breathes horribly and deeply,

It rings out. There’s another call.


I call out tragedy. They don’t listen,

The simple life. Work. Suicide.

Homeless. Freedom. Sick leave. Yes,

She’s not the right person. Idiot.


There’s another call. Go elsewhere. God,

Blasphemy. Another call. You have no child.

God creates the children. Thanks for waiting,

I quite enjoy it. Death by firing squad.


Shoot a blank. I never knew,

Electric chair. I make myself up well.

Hanging. It’s I who ties the rope,

Buried alive. It’s I who dug my grave.


And if I refused to dig my grave?

A pertinent question, prodigal son.

Prodigal son, go far. We’ve no need,

The news you bring is unwelcome.


We’re already in the future,

The signs are on the walls.

Open the door electronically,

Little boy is well occupied, with a backpack.


Blue pages at the back,

Here, we find demonic verse.

Fat man takes the time of others,

Door opens automatically. I’m free.


Not forgotten but forgiven,

An arrogant smirk. I say he’s unwell.

It closes off possibilities. Much to do,

A message to send: little time.


I’m not yet free. I’ve words to add,

Always excuses, petty though they may be.

No hello. No greeting at all,

A disturbance: a small voice, and love ….


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